JUSTINA 


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ALREADY    PUBLISHED: 

HER    CRIME.  LITTLE   SISTER. 

BARRINCTON'S    FATE. 

A    DAUGHTER    OF    THE    PHILISTINES. 

PRINCESS    AMELIE.  DIANE   CORYVAL. 

ALMOST    A     DUCHESS. 
A    SUPERIOR    WOMAN.  JUSTINA. 

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NO   NAME   SERIES. 


JUSTINA. 


NO    NAME    SERIES. 

"Is  THE  GENTLEMAN  ANONYMOUS?   Is  HE  A  GREAT  UNKNOWN?" 

DANIEL  DEKONDA. 


J  U  S  T  I  N  A. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 
1886. 


Copyright,  1886, 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


JUSTINA. 


i. 


THE  long  train  scurried  under  a  dull,  low  sky 
across  dull,  level  fields.  Here  and  there,  on  the 
one  side  or  the  other,  a  line  of  steel-gray  light 
showed  the  straight  path  of  some  sluggish  water- 
course. Here  and  there  a  distant  village  opened 
a  sleepy  eye.  Here  and  there  a  windmill  or  a 
row  of  poplars  stood  up  in  uncompromising 
protest  against  the  horizontal.  Beyond  all,  an 
inkling,  rather  than  a  glimpse,  of  sullen  sea.  Or 
was  it  simply  dim,  gray  distance,  made  up  of 
the  same  materials  as  the  present  surroundings, 
toward  which  the  swift  train  shot? 

This  was  the  question  in  Justina's  mind.  She 
sat  in  the  very  heart  of  the  picture  in  a  well- 
padded,  dark-blue  compartment  of  this  Belgian 
railway-train,  and  asked  it  out  of  her  gray-brown 
eyes.  The  question  was  largely  metaphorical, 
as -is  natural  with  the  questions  of  an  imaginative 

2061747 


6  JUSTINA. 

and  thoughtful  girl.  The  coming,  was  it  the 
past  over  again?  —  an  unknown  sea,  or  dull,  fa- 
miliar earth?  The  girl  was  in  that  mood  of 
mingled  regret  and  hopefulness  which  comes  to 
us  all  at  times  of  change.  And  stronger  than 
either  feeling,  perhaps,  was  the  curiosity  that  is 
given  to  youth,  the  interest  in  the  unfolding 
story  of  life. 

Justina's  companion,  the  placid  Bonn  pro- 
fessor, was  clearly  not  the  man  to  help  her  in 
her  inquiries.  He  had  thoughts  of  his  own,  and 
was  busy  with  them.  This  man  was  a  historian. 
Of  the  close-woven,  many-colored  texture  of  the 
human  story  of  a  certain  distant  century  he  was 
patiently  separating  the  threads,  surprised  now 
and  then  to  see  some  slender  filament  break  if  he 
pulled  a  little  too  hard,  but  mending  it  quickly, 
after  a  man's  clumsy  fashion,  with  some  stout 
theory  of  his  own. 

We  cannot  stop  to  look  at  these  theories. 
For  us  the  historian  is  simply  our  heroine's 
escort  in  this  first  stage  of  her  journey,  —  her 
kind  and  fatherly  friend,  with  whom  and  whose 
gnadige  Frau  she  has  passed  five  profitable  years 
in  that  fair-lying  city,  the  gate  to  the  glories  of 
the  Rhine.  Justina  glanced  at  the  wise  man  now, 
and  smiled  as  she  apprehended  the  sure  result 
of  propounding  her  little  question  to  him :  "  Is 
it  sea,  or  is  it  distance,  lieber  Herr  Professor?" 


JUSTINA.  7 

she  would  say.  And  he  would  kindly  turn  upon 
her  and  wipe  the  historical  glamour  from  his 
eyes.  He  would  wrench  himself  out  of  his  far- 
away century  and  slowly  adjust  himself  to  the 
present  geographical  situation.  He  would  care- 
fully consider  it  in  all  its  bearings.  He  would 
reckon  the  distance  they  had  gone  since  leaving 
Cologne  in  the  morning.  He  would  ask  her,  or 
possibly  their  silent  fellow-traveller,  to  help  him 
recall  the  name  of  the  last  station  at  which  the 
train  stopped.  Then  he  would  get  out  his  rail- 
way-map and  settle  the  point  forever. 

Justina  shrugged  her  shoulders  after  the  little 
fashion  she  had  caught  in  Germany.  She  was 
not  sure  she  wished  the  point  settled.  She  would 
return  to  her  thoughts.  The  professor,  dear 
soul,  should  enjoy  his  theories.  She  would  en- 
joy hers.  If  the  past  were  a  good  field  for  spec- 
ulation, surely  the  future  was  a  better  one. 

The  young  lady  had  a  few  foundation  facts  to 
build  upon,  and  these  shall  be  placed  at  once  in 
the  reader's  hands.  She  was  an  orphan  of  twen- 
ty-one. She  was  about  to  return  to  her  native 
land,  the  United  States,  after  ten  years  of  absence. 
Her  mother,  until  three  years  ago  her  insepara- 
ble companion,  now  lay  at  rest  in  the  old  Kirch- 
hof  at  Bonn.  Justina  was  learning  to  think  with 
peacefulness  of  leaving  her  sleeping  there  in  one 
of  those  quiet,  shaded  plots  among  the  crosses 


8  JUSTINA. 

and  the  immortelles,  her  rest  shared  by  so  many 
noble  ones,  —  Schumann,  Arndt,  Niebuhr,  the 
Schillers,  the  Bunsens.  The  girl  was  learning 
to  look  forward  once  more,  and  not  backward. 
And  when  the  short  letter  from  an  almost  un- 
known uncle  had  come,  proposing  her  return 
and  a  stay  of  indefinite  length  at  his  house,  her 
decision  had  been  made  almost  at  once,  and  the 
answer  flashed  back  over  the  cable :  "  Dear  uncle, 
I  will  come." 

Justina  travelled  with  such  relays  of  escorts  as 
may  easily  be  found  for  a  solitary  yet  well-con- 
nected young  lady.  The  professor  was  to  de- 
liver her  at  Antwerp  into  the  hands  of  a  former 
governess,  Fraulein  Linz,  and  that  worthy  woman 
would  conduct  her  to  London  vid  the  mournful 
waters  of  the  German  Ocean.  In  London  she 
would  be  met  by  the  Beverlys,  her  mother's  old 
friends,  her  uncle's  neighbors.  Once  with  them, 
all  would  go  well.  It  was  not  with  the  stages, 
it  was  with  the  end  of  her  journey  that  she  was 
now  concerned.  She  was  trying  to  build  up  and 
to  people  her  future  home.  And  she  had  only 
fragments  to  build  with,  —  fragments  of  her 
mother's  reminiscences,  her  own  dim  recollec- 
tions, her  uncle's  non-committal  letters.  Her 
uncle  lived  in  a  New  England  town.  It  was 
from  him— Justin  Wilton  —  that  she  had  her 
old-fashioned  name.  He  was  very  deaf.  He 


JUSTIN  A.  9 

was  very  peculiar.  He  was  far  from  rich.  Here 
knowledge  ended,  and  faith,  hope,  love,  imagina- 
tion began. 

A  third  traveller,  the  only  other  occupant  of 
the  cotip6y  sat  at  the  opposite  window,  at  the 
farthest  remove  from  Justina.  He  was  evidently 
only  a  chance  compagnon  de  voyage  of  the  two 
others.  He  had  the  indefinable  air  of  a  man 
travelling  alone,  with  no  one  to  care  for  or  to 
think  of,  —  a  slight  carelessness  of  dress,  an  ab- 
sence of  any  immediate  interest.  Justina,  with  a 
girl's  ready  judgment,  had,  after  a  glance  or  two, 
condemned  this  man  as  silent.  She  admitted 
that  there  could  have  been  no  occasion  for  him 
to  be  otherwise  than  silent,  that  she  would  have 
been  surprised  and  probably  displeased  if  he 
had  been  otherwise.  Nevertheless,  the  verdict 
justified  itself  to  her  mind,  and  she  could  have 
supported  it  by  several  good  arguments. 

While  the  two  other  travellers  theorized,  each 
after  his  separate  fashion,  what  was  this  man 
doing?  Enduring,  one  might  conclude,  after 
some  study  of  the  firm,  deeply  lined  forehead, 
the  strong,  immobile  mouth.  Yet  the  gray  eye 
was  alert.  There  could  be  no  present  stress 
of  pain.  Behind  the  furrows  of  the  forehead 
thought  was  evidently  going  on,  —  pure,  cool 
thought,  unconnected  with  will  or  emotion. 
This  traveller's  impedimenta  marked  him  as  a 


10  JUSTIN  A. 

naturalist  A  long  botanical  case  lay  by  his 
side,  and  over  his  head  was  a  box  from  which 
faint  insect  pipings  issued  in  the  pauses  of  the 
train.  He  had  not  taken  the  train  at  Cologne. 
Justina  had  noticed  him  entering  the  coupt  at 
one  of  those  sleepy  intermediate  towns,  taken 
leave  of  at  the  station  in  exuberant  French  by  a 
group  of  learned-looking  men. 

It  was  at  "last  a  strong  and  sudden  gleam  of 
reflected  light,  striking  through  the  carriage 
from  window  to  window,  that  roused  each  one 
of  this  trio  from  his  thoughts.  The  heavy  gray 
curtain  which  had  overspread  the  sky  had  been 
slowly  breaking  up,  and  through  a  fissure  in  the 
great  disarranged  mass  the  sun  now  shot  one 
sharp  glance  at  the  sea,  which  flashed  it  back 
again  with  superb  defiance  in  the  face  of  all 
the  world. 

"  Oh,  look,  Herr  Professor !  "  cried  Justina. 
"  How  glorious  it  is !  And  it  is  the  sea !  We 
are  almost  there." 

"Aber!  —  thou  dear  child,  yes,  truly  it  is 
glorious.  It  is  scarcely  the  sea,  however;  it 
must  be  —  let  me  see  —  it  is  some  arm  of  the 
West  Scheldt.  The  sea  itself  does  not  reach 
Antwerp,  and  we  have  yet  a  half-hour  before  we 
are  there." 

The  professor  went  on  to  consider  how  it  was 
very  possibly  at  about  this  point  that  the  prows 


JUSTIN  A.  1 1 

of  the  Norwegian  rovers  first  penetrated  these 
rich  and  smiling  lowlands;  and  thus,  working 
backward,  he  soon  made  his  way  to  the  century 
from  which  he  had  been  summoned. 

Justina  watched  the  line  of  water  till  it  grew 
gray  again,  and  then  was  lost.  She  was  impa- 
tient of  losing  it.  She  found  herself  more  and 
more  in  the  spirit  of  the  train,  rushing  headlong 
toward  that  unknown  ocean.  Was  not  that 
ocean  to  bear  her  from  the  old  to  the  new? 
What  more  does  one  ask  at  twenty-one?  She 
took  from  her  pocket  her  uncle's  brief  letter 
and  read  it  for  perhaps  the  twentieth  time. 
She  looked  intently  out  of  the  window,  the  let- 
ter in  her  hand,  across  these  low,  dull,  spread- 
ing fields.  After  these  levels  what  was  to  come 
to  her,  —  ruggedness  ?  —  heights  ? 

The  professor's  half-hour  soon  passed.  Out  of 
the  flats  rose  that  slender,  beautiful  spire  which 
has  looked  so  long  upon  these  fields  and  blessed 
them.  The  sun  came  out  once  more  and  cast  a 
direct  and  searching  ray  from  under  the  brow  of 
cloud.  "  Are  you  ready?  "  asked  the  sun,  look- 
ing straight  into  Justina's  eyes.  "  Yes,  I  am 
ready,"  smiled  the  girl ;  and  she  folded  her  let- 
ter and  began  to  collect  her  parcels  and  wraps. 
*"  Wake  up,  my  professor,  our  journey  is  over. 
Do  you  not  see?  At  last  we  are  here." 


II. 


AND  was  Fraulein  Linz,  the  ever-punctual 
governess,  not  here  to  meet  them?  Certainly 
it  was  not  Fraulein  Linz,  but  a  portentous  dark- 
blue  telegram  which  occupied  the  third  place 
with  the  professor  and  Justina  at  the  little  table  in 
the  hotel  court.  It  was  now  an  hour  after  their 
arrival,  —  nearly  five  o'clock,  —  and  the  profes- 
sor was  booked  to  leave  at  that  time,  in  order 
to  be  present  to-morrow  morning  at  the  archaeo- 
logical conference  at  Mainz.  The  wise  man  re- 
garded this  obstructive  telegram  with  a  sorely 
perplexed  face,  and  was  conscious  of  a  bewilder- 
ing division  of  heart  between  historic  zeal  and 
fatherly  solicitude. 

"  But  it  is  grievous  to  me,  thou  little  one,  to 
leave  thee  here  alone  even  for  a  few  hours,"  he 
said  to  his  charge.  "  If  it  were  not  for  that  con- 
ference to-morrow,  and,  even  so,  if  it  were  not 
that  my  thema  is  set  down  for  so  early  an  hour  —  " 

"  Do  not  think  of  me,  dear  Herr  Professor," 
begged  Justina.  "  I  shall  do  perfectly  well.  The 
Hausfrau  who  showed  me  my  room  seems  such 
a  friendly  creature.  She  is  aus  Lothringen,  she 


JUSTIN  A.  13 

says,  and  she  loves  all  who  come  from  the 
Rhineland.  And  it  will  be  so  short  a  time. 
See,  the  Fraulein  says:  'Will  surely  come  by 
the  7.30  train.'  I  shall  scarcely  finish  my  book 
by  that  time."  And  the  young  lady  brought  to 
the  front  a  neglected  railway  novel. 

The  good  professor  was  not  lightly  convinced. 
But  time  pressed,  archaeology  was  dear,  Justina 
generously  urged.  At  last  he  nose  to  take  his 
leave;  and  after  repeated  embraces  and  much 
outpouring  of  tender  adjectives,  he  hastened  to- 
ward the  waiting  omnibus,  while  Justina  bravely 
opened  her  book  and  plunged  in  medias  res. 

The  professor  stepped  into  the  office  for  a 
final  word  with  the  landlady  and  the  portier. 
His  simple  joyousness  in  the  coming  conference 
was  disturbed  by  guilty  anticipations  of  con- 
jugal reproaches  when  he  reached  home.  His 
usually  peaceful  countenance  was  anxious  and 
troubled.  At  the  office  he  found  himself  obliged 
to  wait  a  moment  for  another  guest,  who  was 
giving  orders  to  be  called  early  to-morrow 
morning  for  the  London  steamer.  The  profes- 
sor recognized  in  the  speaker  his  fellow-traveller 
on  the  train,  the  tall,  bronzed  man  who  had  car- 
ried the  specimens.  There  was  a  touch  of  gray 
in  the  stranger's  hair.  He  bore  the  air,  so  dear 
to  the  professor,  of  the  scholar  and  the  gentle- 
man. He  was  clearly  English,  or  American. 


14  JUSTINA. 

"Excuse  me,  honored  sir,"  broke  out  our 
good  historian  in  laborious  English,  with  his 
hat  in  the  air.  "  I  overhear  that  you  also  voy- 
age to  London.  Let  me  ask  that  you  look  a 
little  out  for  my  young  charge.  It  is  needful 
that  I  go  at  once  back,  and  the  governess  fails. 
She  comes  not  yet  for  two-three-hours.  She 
sits  in  the  garden,  my  little  miss."  And  the 
professor  pointed  out,  through  the  window, 
the  young  lady  engaged  with  her  book.  The 
stranger  promised  kindly  enough,  though  with- 
out enthusiasm,  and  brought  down  on  himself 
a  deluge  of  thanks,  in  the  midst  of  which  the 
portier  hurried  the  professor  off,  the  landlady 
aus  Lothringen  following  to  the  street  with 
profuse  assurances  of  interest  in  the  allerliebste 
junge  Dame. 

The  gentleman  whom  the  professor  had  ad- 
dressed took  his  newspaper  to  one  of  the  small 
tables  in  the  court  and  ordered  a  cup  of  coffee. 
It  was  a  pleasant  place  of  a  summer  afternoon, 
shining  with  cleanliness.  Fresh-scoured  stones 
gave  the  ground  tone,  glossy  myrtles  and  ole- 
anders in  bright  green  boxes  added  a  touch  of 
richness,  tables  and  chairs  stood  sociably  about 
in  the  deep  shadow  of  the  building.  A  broad 
gateway  stood  open  to  the  street,  and  the  stream 
of  city  life  flowed  past.  There  were  the  usual 
blue-bloused  laborers,  the  white-capped  maids, 


JUSTIN  A.  15 

the  stunted  brown  old  men  and  women.  A 
nobleman's  carriage  flashed  by,  gay  with  out- 
riders and  overflowing  with  silks  and  plumes. 
A  wretched  legless,  distorted  being  crawled 
along  begging.  In  the  window  of  a  lace-shop 
opposite  were  hung  out  those  webs  of  exquisite, 
costly  nothingness  which  the  luxury-loving  of 
all  lands  have  long  come  here  to  seek.  Ah ! 
but  the  laces  were  shut  out  for  a  moment  when 
past  the  window  toiled  a  hard-faced,  wan,  bent 
woman,  bearing  on  her  back  a  baby's  coffin. 

Our  silent  traveller,  John  Rolfe,  sat  at  his 
leisure  in  this  pleasant  place.  He  soon  ex- 
hausted his  newspaper,  and,  folding  his  arms, 
looked  gravely  straight  before  him.  His  face 
was  not  a  mobile  one,  and  it  would  have  been 
hard  to  guess  his  thoughts  for  the  next  half- 
hour.  For  once  he  was  perhaps  himself  not 
cognizant  of  them.  It  was  his  habit  to  com- 
pare, to  weigh,  to  build  up,  adding  data  to  data. 
Just  now  he  was  doing  nothing  of  the  sort ;  he 
was  letting  his  mind  drift.  After  a  time  he  rec- 
ognized his  mental  inaction  and  recalled  him- 
self with  an  impatient  shake  of  his  large  frame. 
He  frowned  grimly  as  he  perceived  how  very 
literally  he  had  been  carrying  out  his'  promise 
to  the  German  professor,  —  to  keep  an  eye  on 
that  young  lady.  He  turned  away  and  looked 
up  at  the  rich  carvings  of  the  spire  which  rose 


1 6  JUSTIN  A. 

into  the  now  blue  but  cloud-flecked  sky  above 
the  little  court.  But  when  his  glance  fell,  it 
rested  naturally  again  on  his  young  fellow- 
traveller. 

It  was  certainly  not  an  unpleasing  thing  to 
look  upon,  this  dark-robed,  graceful  figure, 
this  delicate,  intelligent  face  surmounted  by  the 
trim  travelling  cap.  John  Rolfe  experienced  a 
certain  satisfaction  in  the  sight.  He  was  accus- 
tomed to  observe  life  in  many  of  its  forms,  but 
it  was  long  since  a  young  woman  had  come 
under  his  special  attention.  Women  were  in 
general  to  him  mere  shifting  parts  of  the  ma- 
chinery of  life's  play,  —  always  shifting,  usually 
simply  spectacular.  He  had  not  been  conscious 
of  even  noticing  this  girl  before  his  interview 
with  the  professor.  Yet  now  he  found  himself 
remembering  her  aspect  on  the  train  during  the 
earlier  part  of  the  day.  He  remembered  the 
reading  of  the  letter,  the  far-away  questioning 
look,  the  joyful  hailing  of  that  flash  of  sea.  He 
caught  himself  speculating  about  her.  What 
might  those  questioning  eyes  have  been  search- 
ing? What  might  that  eagerness  be  seizing? 
And  then  he  quickly  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
heavy  looking  pamphlet  and  began  to  read. 

Justina  had  by  no  means  been  lost  in  her 
book  during  all  this  time.  She  had  soon 
dropped  it,  and  given  herself  to  the  things 


JUSTIN  A.  17 

about  her.  The  moving  street  pictures  had 
each  in  its  turn  claimed  her  attention.  The 
great  church,  rising  so  near,  was  to  her  like  a 
living  presence.  She  felt  the  influence  stealing 
down  upon  her,  —  the  simple,  irresistible  influ- 
ence of  greatness. 

She  grew  impatient  of  sitting  here  so  passive 
under  this  spell.  More  than  once  she  looked  at 
her  watch.  The  long  afternoon  of  the  northern 
summer  was  waning,  but  there  was  still  a  little 
time  before  the  church-doors  were  likely  to  be 
shut.  There  was  a  struggle  between  the  long 
habit  of  adherence  to  foreign  proprieties  and 
native  maidenly  independence.  Independence 
won.  With  a  gay  little  smile  all  to  herself  she 
tucked  the  book  under  her  arm  and  resolutely 
walked  to  the  gateway.  There,  out  of  the  nar- 
row street,  she  saw  the  gray,  sharp-angled  mar- 
ket-place opening  against  the  rich  background 
of  the  cathedral  front.  Her  last  scruple  fled  at 
the  sight,  and  she  turned  briskly  into  the  street. 

Rolfe  rose  mechanically  and  followed.  After 
a  few  steps  he  stopped  abruptly.  He  turned 
savagely  upon  himself.  "  Who  am  I,  what  am 
I,  to  be  following  this  girl  like  a  student  in  a 
story-book?"  Then  he  remembered  his  promise 
to  the  German.  He  walked  more  slowly,  but 
he  did  not  lose  sight  of  that  dark-blue  figure 
making  its  way  among  the  booths  and  carts  of 


1 8  JUSTIN  A. 

the  market-place,  now  closing  for  the  night,  or 
lumbering  towards  home. 

Close  under  the  cathedral  wall  Justina  stopped 
before  a  flower-stand.  The  old  woman  who  kept 
it  was  throwing  away  her  wilted  blossoms  and 
piling  boards  and  boxes  upon  her  patient  donkey. 
Seeing  one  last  chance  of  a  sale,  she  clutched  at 
Justina's  gown  and  called  her  attention  to  a  pot 
of  lilies  blooming  gloriously  in  the  rich  lowland 
soil  that  they  love.  "  The  grace  of  Heaven  on 
the  sweet  lady  who  buys !  "  croaked  the  old 
creature  in  her  wretched  Belgian  patois.  Who 
could  resist  them?  Justina  took  them  all,  cut- 
ting them  tenderly  with  her  own  hands  while 
the  vendor  counted  out  her  change.  Then  she 
passed  on  under  the  heavy  leather  curtain  in 
the  great  door.  "  The  very  last  visitor  for  the 
day,"  she  thought;  but  she  did  not  see  the  tall 
man  who  entered  a  moment  later  and  stepped 
into  the  shadow  of  a  pillar. 

She  was  indeed  late.  They  were  drawing  the 
curtains  over  the  great  show-pictures,  and  at  the 
far  end  of  the  nave  an  acolyte  was  snuffing  out 
candles  on  the  high  altar.  But  a  few  working- 
people  knelt  here  and  there,  and  in  some  hidden 
loft  an  organist  was  practising  a  mass. 

Justina  had  come  rather  to  feel  the  place  than 
to  see  it,  and  did  not  regret  the  curtained  pic- 
tures and  absent  cicerones.  She  took  one  of 


JUSTIN  A.  19 

the  low  rush-bottomed  chairs  and  sat  quite  still 
for  many  minutes,  her  face  toward  the  evening 
light  still  glowing  in  one  of  the  great  windows, 
her  lilies  pinned  to  her  breast,  her  heart  at  rest. 
She  did  not  kneel.  She  did  not  think  of  her- 
self,—  her  loneliness,  her  uncertainties, —  nor 
ask  of  heaven  one  gift  for  her  own  keeping. 
But  always  afterward  she  was  glad  she  had 
that  evening  brought  her  life  in  its  freshness, 
its  hopefulness  and  high  intent,  into  this  place 
made  sacred  by  so  many  prayers. 

In  a  few  moments  John  Rolfe  walked  once 
more  across  the  market-place  behind  his  fellow- 
traveller.  He  reached  the  portiers  office  just 
in  time  to  see  her  turning  to  go  upstairs,  with 
a  freshly  opened  telegram  in  her  hand  and 
concern  on  her  countenance,  the  gesticulating, 
effusive  landlady  following. 


III. 

THE  second  telegram  read  thus :  "  Impossible 
to  go.  Next  steamer.  Sorry."  And  the  im- 
mediate effect  of  its  reading  was  a  very  natural 
dismay  in  our  young  traveller's  mind. 

Alone  !  She  had  not  felt  alone  before,  because, 
in  her  thought,  Fraulein  Linz  had  been  coming 
toward  her,  and  every  few  minutes  she  had 
said  to  herself:  "  Ah !  by  this  time  she  has 
crossed  the  Lys ;  now  she  is  at  Ghent ;  in  half 
an  hour  she  will  be  here."  Now  she  was  in- 
deed alone.  In  all  the  length  and  breadth  of 
this  strange  city,  and  in  all  the  wide-spreading 
fields  about  it,  there  was  not  one  creature  she 
had  seen  before  to-day,  excepting  the  good 
professor,  who  was  hastening  away.  And  with 
this  journey  before  her !  Should  there  indeed 
be  a  journey?  Should  she  not  rather  turn 
back,  follow  the  professor  on  his  homeward 
way,  and  surprise  the  dear  Professorin  to-mor- 
row morning?  Or  seek  out  Fraulein  Linz,  and 
with  her  wait  for  the  next  steamer? 

A  few  minutes'  consideration,  somewhat  im- 
peded by  the  friendly  demonstrations  of  the 


JUSTINA.  21 

Hausfrau,  brought  her  to  a  decision.  "  When 
doubtful,  go  forward.  That  is  some  old  gen- 
eral's advice ;  I  '11  take  it  now.  The  Beverlys 
are  expecting  me.  They  will  be  at  the  dock  to 
meet  me,  and  their  plans  will  be  disarranged  if 
I  fail.  I  must  make  the  best  of  it.  I  must  go. 
Once  on  the  steamer,  all  will  be  well  enough.  I 
need  not  exhibit  my  loneliness.  I  can  stay  in 
the  cabin,  and  be  proper.  —  Good  night,  good 
Frau  hostess,"  she  added  aloud ;  "  a  thousand 
thanks  for  your  kindness  !  Send  me  a  little  sup- 
per here  in  my  room,  please,  and  have  me  called 
in  the  morning  for  the  steamer." 

How  charming,  how  fresh  and  cool  and  spark- 
ling was  that  early  breakfast-hour  in  the  court 
the  next  morning !  How  one  remembers  such 
an  hour  sometimes,  of  little  moment  in  itself,  but 
standing  vivid  against  the  dark  background  of  a 
less  agreeable  experience  !  The  myrtle-trees  had 
taken  on  a  fresh  gloss  from  recent  washing.  The 
oleanders  —  the  pink  and  the  white  —  were  in 
bloom.  The  sky  was  clear-cut  sapphire, —  ah  ! 
and  the  spire  was  in  it.  Frequent  dashings  of 
water  in  the  progress  of  the  morning's  cleaning 
filled  the  air  of  the  court-yard  with  music  and 
with  freshness.  The  servants  clattered  about 
on  their  pattens.  The  coffee,  the  rolls,  the 
grapes,  the  neat  white-clad  tables,  —  each  was 
perfection  in  its  way. 


22  JUSTIN  A. 

Very  few  guests  were  astir.  The  closed  win- 
dows of  the  high  building  looked  down  blindly 
on  the  court.  In  a  distant  corner  one  other 
table  was  occupied,  and  Justina,  with  a  mo- 
mentary interest,  recognized  the  occupant  as 
yesterday's  fellow-traveller,  still  attended  by  his 
pamphlets  and  his  specimens.  But  she  was  off 
in  her  little  fiacre,  the  servants  feed,  the  land- 
lady embraced,  the  portier  paid,  the  last  thanks 
bowed  and  smiled,  before  the  quiet  man  moved 
from  his  place.  Off  for  that  unknown  ocean  ! 

It  was  many  hours  after  this  that  the  girl  found 
herself  feebly  creeping  up  to  a  low  plane  of  life 
from  an  abyss  of  discomfort,  illness,  and  heavy, 
unrefreshing  sleep.  It  was  her  head,  she  be- 
came slowly  conscious,  which  was  throbbing  so 
heavily.  It  was  her  arm  that  was  scratched  by 
the  coarse  red  plush  of  the  cabin  sofa.  It  was 
she  —  Justina  Wilton — whose  whole  being  was 
permeated  by  this  dull,  unspeakable  wretched- 
ness. Every  sense  was  an  inlet  of  misery.  How 
that  plush  grated  to  the  touch.  How  the  ear 
shrank  at  the  thud  of  the  machinery  and  shud- 
dered at  the  swirl  of  the  water  along  the  sides  of 
the  boat !  And  the  eye  !  What  word  can  tell  the 
dreariness  of  the  gray  watery  waste  and  the  white 
and  empty  sky  which  rose  and  fell  at  every  dizzy- 
ing angle  through  that  row  of  staring  windows? 

"Feelin"  better,  miss?"  asked  the  stewardess, 


JUSTINA.  23 

rolling  herself  up  from  some  dim  corner.  "  But 
a  bad  day  you  Ve  'ad  of  it,  indeed  you  'ave,  and 
the  nastiest  weather  I  ever  see  !  " 

"  What  time  is  it?  "  said  Justina,  —  a  woman's 
first  question  in  any  crisis. 

"  Between  four  and  five,  miss." 

"Of  the  next  afternoon?  Of  course  it's  the 
next  afternoon?" 

"  Yes,  miss,"  answered  the  official  comfort- 
bearer,  looking  askance  at  the  patient,  with 
some  idea  that  she  had  suddenly  gone  wrong 
in  her  head ;  "  yes,  miss,  we  '11  be  in  prompt  in 
the  morning,  all  in  good  time,  you  know.  And 
you  must  be  a  good  young  lady,  and  we  '11  soon 
be  in  the  river  now,  —  which  it 's  much  heasier 
and  less  tryin'  there." 

"  Where  are  the  others?"  asked  Miss  Wilton. 

"  The  other  which,  miss?  " 

"  Passengers." 

"  Oh !  well,  you  see,  miss,  we  mostly  'as  but 
few  in  the  ladies'  cabin.  There  is  one  young 
person  in  the  second  cabin,  —  somethin'  in  the 
milliner  and  'aberdasher  line,  —  she  'aint  stirred 
out  of  her  berth.  What  with  her,  and  with  you, 
and  the  fog,  which  I  'aint  feelin'  well  myself  on 
account  of  lumbago  brought  on  by  the  fog,  a 
day  I  Ve  'ad  of  it,  I  must  confess,  and  the 
nastiest  weather  I  ever  see !  But  you  're  bet- 
ter now,  quite  better,  my  dear  young  miss." 


24  JUSTINA. 

After  a  time,  under  similar  encouragement, 
Justina  made  her  way  into  the  saloon  in  the 
search  for  freer  air.  She  sat  closely  wrapped 
in  her  travelling  cloak,  the  hood  with  its  red- 
silk  lining  drooping  over  her  shoulders.  What 
a  contrast  to  the  spirited  creature  of  twenty-four 
hours  before ! 

Past  the  open  doorway,  as  she  sat  there  de- 
jected, came  a  steady,  martial  step.  She  looked 
up.  It  was  yesterday's  traveller  again.  He 
seemed  like  an  old  friend,  —  the  first  sign  of 
a  familiar  world  after  these  chaotic  depths.  It 
was  impossible  that  there  should  not  be  recog- 
nition in  both  pairs  of  eyes  as  they  met  for  an 
instant.  He  went  past  the  door,  but  almost  im- 
mediately turned  back  and  crossed  the  saloon 
to  her  side. 

"  Will  you  come  with  me  out  on  the  deck?  I 
think  we  can  find  a  dry  spot,  and  the  air  may  do 
you  good?" 

Justina  obediently  rose,  and  he  waited  while 
she  drew  the  red-lined  hood  about  her  head. 

"  The  fog  is  a  little  less  dense,"  he  said,  help- 
ing her  up  the  gangway,  "and  the  swell  is  less. 
I  hope  the  worst  is  over." 

"  How  good  it  is,  that  cheerful,  strong  tone  !  " 
thought  the  girl.  And  she  found  her  own  voice, 
and  said  something  in  recognition. 

"  I  am  an  old  traveller.    It  is  harder  for  you," 


JUSTIN  A.  25 

he  answered  simply.  Then  he  found  that  dry 
spot,  built  up  a  nest  of  rugs  and  shawls,  and 
established  her  in  it. 

"  We  have  few  fellow-passengers,"  said  Justina, 
by  way  of  saying  something. 

"  I  have  more  than  you  have,  —  some  very 
entertaining  ones,"  he  replied.  And  he  went 
on,  not  too  eagerly,  to  talk  about  his  specimens 
in  a  free,  untechnical  dialect  quite  delightful  to 
his  listener.  It  was  the  first  journey  of  some  of 
them,  he  said,  from  off  the  continent  of  Europe. 
They  carried  their  jewels  with  them,  —  rubies, 
mostly,  but  there  was  one  fine  emerald,  —  and 
silks  and  gauzes  of  the  finest.  One  of  them 
had  a  curious  musical  instrument;  another  a 
dangerous  weapon  of  war.  "  He  thinks  I  am 
a  child,"  thought  Justina ;  "  nevertheless,  it  is 
very  nice." 

While  he  talked,  looking  off  on  the  water, 
with  only  now  and  then  a  brief  full  glance  at  her, 
she  tried  to  study  his  face.  It  was  a  dark,  sun- 
browned  face,  strong  in  the  square,  shaven  chin, 
the  somewhat  high  cheek-bones,  the  steady,  keen 
gray  eyes.  It  was  quiet  even  to  gravity.  It  was 
capable  of  sternness  and  of  bitterness.  Was  it 
capable  of  tenderness?  That  point  she  could 
not  yet  determine. 

He  talked  on,  not  too  long,  about  these  dis- 
tinguished Malopods  and  Myriopods,  their  fel- 


26  JUSTIN  A. 

low-travellers,  answering  the  few  questions  which 
occurred  to  Justina's  ignorance.  Then  by  some 
mysterious  sorcery  he  became  possessed  of  an 
orange,  and  silently  turned  his  attention  to  open- 
ing that.  Justina  watched  his  manipulations,  lan- 
guidly at  first,  but  gradually  roused  to  an  interest 
almost  intense. 

What  a  hand  that  was!  Deft  and  facile, — 
the  hand  of  a  gentleman;  yet  brown  and 
sturdy  and  manful !  Ah  !  if  the  face  would  not 
give  up  its  secrets,  the  hand  had  a  story  of  its 
own  to  tell.  One  felt  as  one  watched  it  all  the 
noble  significance  of  the  human  hand,  —  puls- 
ing with  the  man's  very  life-blood,  wielding  to 
the  man's  will,  creating,  moulding,  magnetic  with 
the  spirit's  own  spark,  tender  with  the  soul's 
tenderness,  strong  with  the  soul's  strength  !  "  If 
I  were  to  be  dissected,"  thought  Justina,  yield- 
ing to  a  fancy  of  her  weakened  brain,  "  I  should 
like  to  be  dissected  by  hands  like  those." 

After  the  few  well-directed,  delicate  touches 
under  which  the  fruit  opened  to  him,  that  orange 
seemed  the  one  earthly  good  to  the  dispirited 
girl.  Its  luscious  promise  became  every  mo- 
ment more  alluring,  and  Justina  found  herself 
reaching  out  greedily  for  the  first  morsel  ten- 
dered by  those  brown  finger-tips.  She  laughed 
as  she  took  it.  "You  have  no  idea  how  you 
have  made  me  want  it."  And  when  between 


JUSTINA.  27 

them  the  golden  segments  had  all  disappeared, 
"  I  believe  that  orange  fell  from  the  sky,"  she 
said. 

"  That  is  because  you  're  beginning  to  be 
good,"  her  companion  answered.  And  there- 
with she  made  a  discovery,  —  the  man  could 
smile.  A  flash  of  a  smile  passed  over  his  face 
with  the  words. 

After  the  young  lady  had  returned  to  her 
cabin,  John  Rolfe  walked  the  deck  a  long  time. 
He  had  not  said  to  her  what  he  said  to  himself, 
— that  he  felt  a  serious  and  deepening  concern  in 
regard  to  the  course  of  the  ship.  The  look  of 
things,  so  far  as  any  look  at  all  was  possible,  was 
most  unsatisfactory.  The  fog  had  not  precisely 
lifted,  but  it  had  removed  to  a  greater  distance, 
and  on  the  starboard  side  it  now  stood  an  im- 
penetrable silver  wall.  On  the  shoreward  side, 
fortunately,  it  had  more  nearly  dispersed,  melt- 
ing in  the  gray  of  sea  and  sky.  But  between 
these  two  gray  oceans,  separating  them  by  a 
dimly  discernible  line,  a  keen  eye  might  detect 
a  long  blue  slab-like  stretch.  This  Rolfe  rec- 
ognized as  the  solid  blue  of  a  coast-line,  and  a 
coast-line,  he  felt  sure,  which  ought  not  to  be 
apparent  in  that  quarter.  The  ship,  in  his  judg- 
ment, should  before  this  time  have  been  in  the 
mouth  of  the  Thames.  The  weather  had  been 
sufficient  reason  for  delay,  but  not,  he  thought, 


28  JUSTIN  A. 

for  so  long  a  delay.  He  feared  that  the  vessel 
had  been  making  northward,  past  the  river's 
mouth. 

This  was  a  coast  that  he  knew,  a  coast  that 
he  did  not  love.  Why  must  it  now  rise  out  of 
this  ghostly  fog  to  threaten  him  ?  As  the  night 
drew  about  the  little  lonely  steamer,  he  gloomily 
paced  the  deck  above  the  head  of  the  one  first- 
class  lady  passenger,  now  fast  asleep. 


IV. 


A  LITTLE  past  midnight  what  Rolfe  feared 
took  place.  Justina  was  wakened  by  that 
breathless  moment  of  silence  that  follows  a 
shock  rather  than  by  the  shock  itself.  Im- 
mediately upon  this  came  a  knock  and  a  voice 
at  her  door.  "  The  ship  is  aground,"  said  the 
voice,  and  she  at  once  recognized  the  firm 
tones.  "  Take  five  minutes  and  dress  thor- 
oughly. I  will  wait  here." 

With  one  hurried  word  of  thanks  she  did 
dress  thoroughly.  She  marvelled  afterward  at 
the  instinct  by  which  each  button  and  each  pin 
was  sent  to  the  right  place.  Two  or  three  vig- 
orous, well-directed  movements  made  her  hair 
secure.  The  little  cap  was  firmly  pinned. 
Shoes  were  fastened,  and  even  her  gloves  she 
afterward  found  clenched  in  one  hand. 

She  opened  the  door  within  the  allotted  five 
minutes.  "Money?  Valuables?"  asked  her 
protector  with  one  quick  glance  from  tip  to 
toe. 

"  Yes,  I  have  everything." 


30  JUSTINA. 

"There  are  other  women,"  said  Rolfe,  ad- 
dressing two  seamen  who  stood  in  the  cabin. 

"  We  are  to  take  care  of  them,"  answered  the 
men,  —  one  advancing  to  the  hysteric  steward- 
ess, the  other  taking  in  hand  the  white,  helpless 
little  milliner. 

Justina  turned  and  looked  at  these  women. 
Neither  of  them  was  fully  dressed.  Could  she 
go  and  leave  them  in  their  fear  and  peril  ? 

"  You  wish  to  help  them  ?     Quickly,  then  ! " 

She  flew  to  the  little  milliner,  helped  her  on 
with  shoes  and  jacket,  and  said  a  quiet  word. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  deceive  you,"  said  Rolfe  to 
them  all,  "  but  I  think  this  is  not  so  very  bad ; 
I  believe  we  shall  get  off." 

The  two  seamen  stood  silent,  ready  to  do  or 
die;  while  hurrying,  scraping,  straining,  thump- 
ing, and,  worst  of  all,  heavy  gurgling  sounds 
went  on  above  and  about  them.  It  was  but  a 
moment,  and  each  man  with  his  woman  was 
making  his  way  up  from  the  ship's  bowels. 

"  We  are  in  or  near  a  bay,"  Rolfe  said,  lifting 
Justina  with  a  high  hand  'over  piles  of  luggage. 
"  There  must  certainly  be  fishing-boats  about  in 
a  few  hours,  —  if  our  boats  fail,  as  I  have  some 
fear  they  will." 

The  short  summer  night  was  already  merging 
in  the  thick,  impenetrable  gray  of  the  earliest 
and  the  dullest  possible  dawn.  Blackness  itself 


JUSTIN  A.  31 

is  not  so  opaque  as  that  gray.  The  steamer's 
whistle  sent  out  weird,  hopeless  appeals  into 
this  tangible,  substantial  gloom.  And  now  and 
again  it  was  cut  sharply  by  a  flash  of  far-off 
lightning.  Not  the  nearest  object  was  visible, 
except  during  these  flashes,  or  in  the  direct  rays 
of  the  few  dull,  shifting  lanterns. 

An  hour  later,  when  this  gray  was  beginning 
to  break  and  to  lighten,  Justina  lay  wrapped  in 
endless  blankets  and  tarpaulins  on  the  floor  of 
a  small  fishing-boat.  Rolfe  walked  rapidly  up 
and  down  the  limited  space  between  her  and  the 
one  mast.  Both  had  been  under  water,  by  some 
mismanagement  of  the  ship's  boat,  which  had 
finally  succeeded  in  taking  off  the  other  passen- 
gers. But  both  were  now  warm  and  cheery,  and 
making  such  approximation  to  dryness  as  was 
possible  in  the  heavy  mist.  Rolfe  came  to  her 
side,  and  the  light  was  now  sufficient  to  show  a 
smile  on  each  face, —  the  smile  of  that  good 
comradeship  which  danger  gives. 

"  A  model  shipwreck,"  he  said ;  "  I  believe 
even  the  passengers'  luggage  will  be  saved. 
See,  the  lighters  are  already  at  work !  " 

"  What  are  the  lighters?  " 

"  The  small  steamers  sent  to  lighten  a  wreck 
of  its  cargo.  The  cargo  must  be  largely  out 
already,  for  the  three  little  lighters  are  lying 
deep  in  the  water.  Our  steamer  has  settled,  and 


32  JUSTINA. 

will  not  sink  farther,  I  think,  and  probably  much 
even  of  the  machinery  will  be  saved." 

"Where  are  your  specimens?"  asked  Jus- 
tina,  ashamed  to  have  forgotten  them  till  this 
moment. 

"  Poor  things  !  I  saw  so  little  chance  for  them 
that  I  gave  them  an  easy  exit  from  life  before 
we  left  the  ship." 

"  Oh,  poor,  pretty  Malopods !  And  what  a 
loss  to  you !  " 

"Loss?  Oh,  no!  it  means  more  work  for 
me.  And  don't  you  know,  have  you  not  yet 
learned,"  he  said,  growing  fierce  and  earnest  for 
the  moment,  "  that  work  is  gain,  instead  of  loss?" 

"  I  know  good  workers  think  so,"  said  Justina, 
somewhat  awed. 

" Now  as  to  prospects,"  he  continued.  "I  — 
I  know  this  village.  I  can  take  you  to  a  decent 
inn,  —  merely  decent,  not  by  any  means  our 
shining  '  Soleil  d'Or' —  Skipper,  Widow  Grew- 
son  still  has  the 'Blue  Lion,'  has  she  not?" 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir !     She  'ave,  sir." 

"  —  The  '  Blue  Lion'  inn,  the  only  one  in  the 
village,  where  the  hostess  will  do  what  she 
can  toward  drying  and  refreshing  you.  Two 
things  you  must  have,  —  food  and  rest, —  before 
you  go  on." 

"  Can  I  telegraph  from  here?  " 

"Yes;   there  is  a  railway-station  and  a  tele- 


JUSTIN  A.  33 

graph-office.     I  will  attend  to  that  if — if  you 
wish." 

Gratefully  enough  the  girl  accepted  his  propo- 
sitions. But  as  they  drew  near  land  —  England 
—  she  became  silent  and  constrained.  What 
must  this  man  think  of  her  and  of  her  friends,  —  a 
girl  left  to  wander  about  in  this  way  by  land  and 
sea  alone?  He  had  asked  no  questions,  looked 
no  questions  even,  and  she  proudly  shrank  from 
volunteering  explanations.  But  she  felt  the  awk- 
wardness of  the  position  with  the  keenness  of  a 
girl  educated  to  the  most  careful  proprieties. 
She  would  have  been  less  concerned  if  she  had 
known  the  man  better.  Partly  obliviousness, 
partly  high  instinct  on  his  part,  were  her  suffi- 
cient protection.  It  was  this  instinct  which  had 
led  him,  this  afternoon  on  the  steamer's  deck, 
to  treat  his  companion  as  a  child.  Now  a  still 
subtler  instinct  of  the  same  nature  put  into  his 
mouth  the  words  with  which  he  broke  the  un- 
easy silence  and  set  her  quite  at  rest, — 

"  I  am  very  glad  your  good  German  guardian 
put  you  in  my  charge." 

"The  professor  put  me  in  your  charge? 
How  could  that  be?  Is  it  possible  that  you 
know  the  professor?" 

"  He   heard   me   say  I  was   coming  by  this 
route.     He  told    me  you  were  coming,  —  you 
and  the  governess  who  was  then  expected." 
3 


34  JUSTINA. 

"  And  who  did  not  come,  after  all.  I  am  glad 
the  poor  Fraulein  escaped  this,  for  she  is  delicate 
and  timid.  But  it  was  thoughtful  of  the  pro- 
fessor. And  how  good  of  you  !  What  should 
I  have  done?" 

"  I  am  not  so  good  as  a  governess,"  broke 
in  her  protector;  "but  I  remember  my  mother 
used  to  think  me  a  pretty  trusty  travelling  com- 
panion,—  many  years  ago,  that  was,  many  years 
—  before  I  had  knocked  about  the  world  to 
such  an  extent  as  now.  Do  you  know,  miss  — 
I  must  ask  you  to  let  me  have  your  name  —  do 
you  know,  I  have  been  in  four  shipwrecks,  or 
ship  accidents?" 

"  Including  this  most  mild  one?  My  name  is 
Justina  Wilton." 

Rolfe  after  a  time  gave  his  name  in  return. 
That  was  all.  But  he  asked  a  question  or  two 
of  her,  and  the  young  lady  was  moved  to  impart 
some  particulars  of  her  destination  and  prospects. 

No  doubt  about  the  "  Blue  Lion"  inn.  It  was 
there,  and  soon  stood  out  of  the  mists  before 
them,  its  dingy  front  to  the  bay,  and  various 
crazy  stairs  and  balconies  leaning  over  the  water. 
A  sailor's  inn,  and  a  sailor's  widow  to  keep  it. 
But  once  thoroughly  wet  and  thoroughly  hun- 
gry, one  is  not  disdainful  of  homely  comforts. 

In  a  little  time,  dried  to  a  rosy  heat  and 
dressed  in  a  fresh-starched  gown  of  that  pretty 


JUSTIN  A.  35 

English  purple  print,  with  sleeves  all  too  short, 
and  a  coarse  white  muslin  neckerchief  crossed 
on  her  bosom,  Justina.was  pouring  tea  for  Rolfe 
at  a  round  table  on  one  of  those  same  crazy  bal- 
conies. Her  little  merry  laughs,  merry,  but 
restrained,  her  forgetfulness  of  discomforts  and 
thoughtlessness  of  self,  her  gentle  concern  for 
him  and  housewifely  interest  in  his  appetite,  his 
tea,  and  his  toast,  —  what  man  who  has  seen  a 
charming  woman  under  such  circumstances  is 
likely  to  forget  it? 

Daylight  was  creeping  in  fast  now,  positively, 
aggressively,  like  a  tide  filling  the  ocean  of  ether 
to  the  brim,  spreading  into  every  recess  and 
corner.  Along  the  western  horizon,  low  over 
the  sea,  lay  a  black,  muttering  cloud,  the  last  of 
those  which  had  brought  their  disaster,  and  now 
on  its  way  out  of  their  hemisphere.  Still  the 
faint  lightnings  flashed  now  and  then  from  one 
end  of  it  to  the  other  as  it  slowly  sank  into  the 
sea.  But  above  the  cloud,  in  a  clear  blue  heaven, 
a  calm  old  moon  was  sailing  high  and  fading. 
Often  afterward  Justina  thought  of  this  picture, 
and  how  they  stood  to  look  at  it  before  they 
turned  to  the  East,  where  the  sun  was  now  send- 
ing up  its  great  beams  and  shone  into  their 
dazzled  faces. 

It  was  full  day,  and  the  world  was  awake. 
But  "  You  must  go  to  sleep  now,"  said  Rolfe  to 


36  JUSTINA. 

his  charge,  and  the  widow  Grewson  bustled  up 
to  take  her  away. 

"  Good  night !  "  he  said,  relentless  to  her  re- 
luctance, but  smiling,  and  holding  out  his  hand. 
"  Sleep  well,  and  thank  you  for  being  so  brave." 

These  smiles  on  the  sun-browned,  quiet  face, 
how  warm  and  bright  they  were !  But  this 
was  the  last  of  them.  A  few  hours  later,  when 
he  returned,  Justina  found  him  re-transformed 
into  the  serious,  enigmatical  stranger  of  two 
days  before.  He  had  sent  her  telegram.  He 
had  arranged  for  her  going  by  the  train  at  one. 
He  had  made  sure  that  her  luggage,  which  was 
saved,  as  he  had  expected,  should  be  forwarded 
from  the  steamer. 

"  I  cannot  go  myself  to  London.  I  —  I  must 
stop  in  this  neighborhood,"  he  said. 

She  could  not  tell  whether  he  regretted  this 
necessity,  or  was  glad  of  it.  But  she  answered 
on  the  former  and  kindlier  supposition.  "Thank 
you,  Mr.  Rolfe,"  she  said.  "  But  whom  do  you 
suppose  I  found  upstairs?  The  little  milliner, 
going  up  to  town  by  the  same  train,  and  she 
begs  that  she  may  be  allowed  to  go  as  my 
maid." 

She  did  not  say  how,  with  the  thought  of 
Mrs.  Raymond  Beverly  before  her  eyes,  this 
plan  had  seemed  to  her  a  particularly  wise  and 
happy  one.  But  she  saw  with  pleasure  that  it 


JUSTIN  A.  37 

at  once  commended  itself  to  Rolfe.  She  said 
something  more  in  acknowledgment  of  his  kind- 
ness. The  words  sounded  formal.  They  were 
chilled  by  his  manner,  and  fell  rather  heavily 
between  them. 

At  one  o'clock  the  train  stole  quietly,  swiftly 
off,  as  is  the  manner  of  English  trains,  and  over 
the  shoulder  of  her  smiling  maid  Justina  looked 
back  to  see  a  tall  brown  man  lifting  his  hat. 
Then  away  over  the  green,  soft  country  they 
glided,  and  this  little  episode  was  left  behind. 
"  It  will  be  quite  a  story  to  tell,  this  little  ship- 
wreck, won't  it?"  thought  the  girl,  "and  a 
strange  thing  to  think  of  always."  But  it  may 
be  here  stated  that  she  seldom  did  tell  the  story. 
Miss  Wilton  was  at  no  time  of  her  life  addicted 
to  the  thrilling  narration  of  personal  adventures. 

As  for  Rolfe,  he  walked  rapidly  away  from 
the  train  and  took  the  one  shabby  little  vehicle 
at  the  station.  "To  Greenbrier  Cottage,"  he 
directed  the  driver;  and  he  took  his  seat,  shut 
the  door  with  decision,  folded  his  arms,  and 
looked  straight  before  him. 


V. 


"AND  now,  Mary,  I  expect  to  hear  a  little 
news,"  said  Mrs.  Beverly  Smith  from  behind 
her  teapots,  after  the  waitress  had  handed  the 
tea  and  rolls  and  left  the  room.  "  Since  this 
fashion  of  '  summer  outings,'  as  you  call  them, 
one  knows  nothing  from  June  till  September." 

"  You  should  go  too,  Aunt  Ray." 

"  With  my  six  great,  beautiful  chambers,  and 
the  breeze  sweeping  through  the  house  all  day 
straight  from  the  mountains;  with  my  garden, 
and  crisp  vegetables  and  fruit,  and  such  servants 
as  my  Sally  and  Dinah  and  Joshua,  —  no,  I 
thank  you,  Mary !  " 

"  But  for  the  change,  aunty.  Don't  you  think 
it  is  good  for  everybody  to  have  a  change  once 
in  a  while  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  have  a  change  now  and  then. 
I  went  to  New  York  a  year  ago  last  November. 
And  I  slipped  getting  out  of  an  omnibus,  and 
was  laid  up  in  the  hotel  for  a  day  or  two.  Then 
I  took  cold  shopping  in  the  rain ;  and  when  I 
got  home  I  found  the  very  same  quality  of  cash- 
mere I  had  paid  a  dollar  for,  selling  for  seventy- 


JUSTINA.  39 

five  cents  at  Draper's.  I  did  n't  have  a  good 
cup  of  tea  all  the  time  I  was  gone,  nor  a  glass 
of  water  I  dared  drink.  I  ruined  my  bonnet,  — I 
had  been  foolish  enough  to  wear  my  best  one. 
Altogether,  I  came  home  in  a  disreputable 
plight  and  utterly  out  of  patience ;  and  when  I 
saw  Joshua's  black  face  beaming  on  me  at  the 
station,  I  assure  you  it  was  a  genuine  beatific 
vision." 

Mary  laughed,  and  the  elder  lady  went  on. 

"  No,  Easterly  is  good  enough  for  me.  As  for 
air,  which  people  talk  so  much  about  nowa- 
days, everybody  knows — everybody  knows — that 
there  is  no  air  in  the  world  better  than  Easterly 
air.  And  scenery  —  where  will  you  find  any- 
thing finer  than  the  everlasting  hills  ? —  and  good 
common-sense  comfort  and  the  best  people  in 
the  world.  I  tell  you,  Mary,  we  are  a  highly 
favored  community." 

"  H inter  den  Bergen  gibt's  auch  Leute"  thought 
Mary  Beverly;  and  by  way  of  a  free  transla- 
tion she  answered :  "  Well,  aunty,  nobody  loves 
Easterly  or  Easterly  people  better  than  I  do. 
But  I  like  to  get  away  and  see  other  folk  some- 
times,—  people  who  live  differently  and  think 
differently.  It  stirs  me  up  and  gives  me  new 
ideas  and  does  me  good." 

Mrs.  Beverly  Smith  slightly  lifted  her  well- 
poised  silver  head,  and  smilingly  demurred. 


40  JUSTINA. 

"  All  very  well  for  those  who  like  it,  but  for 
myself  I  do  not  enjoy  these  new  people  one 
meets  at  hotels.  Everybody  worth  knowing 
comes  to  Easterly  sooner  or  later ;  and  with  such 
families  as  the  Raymonds  and  the  Beverlys  and 
the  Smiths  and  the  Wiltons  — 

"  That  brings  us  to  the  news,  Aunt  Ray.  Do 
you  know  Aunty  Beverly  has  arrived  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Delia  sent  me  a  note  this  morning,  — 
'just  a  first  kiss,'  she  said.     She 's  quite  done  up 
by  the  journey,  of  course,  and  she  '11  tell  me  the 
rest  when  we  meet.     What  is  the  rest?  " 

"  I  don  't  know,  except  that  young  Raymond 
and  his  wife  have  come  with  her,  —  the  wife 
sweeter  than  ever,  —  and  Paul,  who  has  finished 
at  Vienna  and  is  going  into  practice  here.  And 
a  niece  of  old  Mr.  Justin  \Vilton,  —  come  to  live 
with  Mr.  Wilton,  I  believe." 

"  A  niece  of  Justin  Wilton,  —  Sarah  Ray- 
mond's, Sarah  Wilton's  child?  It  must  be; 
there  is  no  other  niece  in  existence,  I  'm  sure. 
How  old  is  this  girl?  " 

"  Twenty  one  or  two ;  not  precisely  pretty, 
they  say,  but  distinguished-looking,  charming. 
Paul  is  violently  interested  already,  though  he 
never  saw  her  till  they  met  in  London  a  month 
ago." 

"  If  she  is  like  her  mother  she  is  a  noble 
creature." 


JUSTIN  A.  41 

"  She  is  something  unusual,  according  to  Aunt 
De.  Sings  and  plays  like  a  seraph ;  piano  and 
harp ;  all  the  modern  languages  at  her  tongue's 
end.  Modest  as  a  peasant  girl,  however.  She 's 
been  kept  very  simply,  for  they  are  poor,  I 
believe." 

"  Of  course  they  're  poor.  All  Wiltons  are 
poor,  and  Sarah's  husband  left  her  with  next  to 
nothing.  That  is  why  she  went  abroad.  I 
thought  it  a  foolish  step ;  but  when  she  told  me 
how  little  she  had  and  how  little  she  could  live 
on  there,  it  did  seem  best." 

Mrs.  Smith  pushed  back  her  chair,  and  the 
two  women  loitered  down  the  long  hall  toward 
the  parlor.  Mary  remarked  on  the  new  hall- 
carpet,  and  indulged  in  her  never-failing  admi- 
ration of  the  four  stately  chairs  which  stood  in 
a  row  against  the  wall,  and  of  the  twisted  ma- 
hogany balustrade  of  the  staircase.  Stately 
chairs  were  frequent  in  Easterly.  But  there  are 
degrees  in  such  elegances,  and  Mrs.  Smith's 
were  of  the  stateliest.  The  ladies  stepped  out 
at  the  front  door  for  a  look  across  the  country 
toward  the  hills,  and  said  how  clear  and  rich 
they  stood  out  in  this  September  air,  and  how 
cool  the  evenings  were  getting.  Then  Mrs.  Smith 
stirred  up  the  wood-fire  in  the  parlor  and  handed 
a  fresh  "  Atlantic  "  to  her  guest. 

"That  new  writer  shows  some  talent,"  she  re- 


42  JUSTIN  A. 

marked,  "  but  I  'm  afraid  the  story  is  going  to 
turn  out  unpleasantly.  It  is  the  fashion  with 
authors  nowadays  to  be  gloomy." 

But  after  a  brief  desultory  dialogue  on  the 
affairs  of  the  world  at  large,  the  two  natu- 
rally returned  to  matters  of  more  immediate 
interest. 

"  I  can't  help  thinking  of  that  poor  child 
shut  up  with  old  Justin  Wilton,"  the  elder  lady 
began. 

"  I  'm  afraid  it  will  be  rather  dull  for  her,"  an- 
swered sympathetic  Mary. 

"  Dull  ?  If  she 's  not  frightened  out  of  her 
wits  by  some  of  his  inventions,  or  blown  to 
atoms  by  his  chemicals,  she  may  consider  herself 
fortunate.  He 's  so  deaf  himself  that  he  never 
knows  what  an  uproar  he  is  creating,  and  the 
whole  neighborhood  is  kept  in  alarm  by  his 
frightful  noises.  It's  my  belief — I  think  I've 
been  told  —  that  he  lost  his  hearing  in  the  first 
instance  by  some  terrific  explosion  in  one  of  his 
boyish  performances." 

"  Then  he  has  been  deaf  a  long  time?  " 

"  Always,  practically." 

"  And  has  he  always  lived  alone?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  he  had  a  wife.  There  is  a  pretty 
story  about  his  courtship.  Of  course  none  of 
the  ordinary  methods  would  do  in  his  case.  So 
he  wrote  his  lady  a  letter  and  told  her  he  would 


JUSTfNA.  43 

call  at  a  certain  time  for  her  answer.  If  it  was 
No,  she  should  come  into  the  room  as  usual, 
and  he  would  make  a  little  visit.  If  it  was  Yes, 
she  should  come  in  with  her  bonnet  on,  and  they 
would  go  for  a  walk  together.  He  had  no  hope 
of  her,  and  was  sitting  with  his  head  cast  down, 
when  she  came  in.  Of  course  he  did  not  hear 
her.  But  she  touched  his  arm,  and  he  looked 
up  and  saw  her  with  her  bonnet  on." 

"  How  nice  !  "  said  Mary. 

"  Yes.  She  was  a  pretty  little  thing,  but  deli- 
cate, and  rather  frightened- looking.  I  daresay 
he  did  frighten  her  nearly  to  death.  She  lived 
only  two  or  three  years,  and  he  has  been  grow- 
ing queerer  ever  since.  I  'm  afraid  that  child 
will  have  a  hard  time  with  him.  I  really  think 
some  one  ought  to  warn  her  about  that — that 
object." 

"  That  what,  Aunt  Ray  ?  " 

"An  automaton.  Do  you  know  he  worked 
away,  I  can't  tell  you  how  many  years,  inventing 
a  —  a  creature  that  would  go  downstairs  and 
pick  up  his  morning  paper  for  him.  Well,  he 
succeeded  at  last  —  partially.  The  thing  would 
go  downstairs  and  would  pick  up  the  paper ;  but 
it  never  could  be  made  to  turn  around  and  bring 
it  up.  When  he  finally  gave  up,  and  forgot  this 
absurdity  for  some  other,  it  was  condemned  to 
the  garret,  and  poor  Mrs.  Finnigan,  who  was 


44  JUSTIN  A. 

cleaning  house  there  one  spring,  was  nearly 
sent  into  convulsions  by  it" 

"  I  'm  glad  of  one  thing,  aunty,"  said  Mary, 
when  the  laugh  had  subsided,  "  I  'm  glad  to 
have  young  Raymond  Beverly  and  his  wife  back 
in  Easterly.  She  is  so  lovely." 

"  Yes,  she  is  a  dear  creature,  and  he's  a  good 
fellow.  I  suppose  they  will  live  with  his  mother 
for  the  present.  And  Paul  —  I  always  thought 
Paul  Beverly  a  very  talented  fellow,  Mary. 
He'll  make  a  good  doctor." 

"Yes,  Paul  is  a  nice  boy.  We  are  quite  fill- 
ing up  —  are  n't  we?  —  after  all  these  absences. 
Somebody  said  the  other  day  that  Mr.  Rolfe's 
son,  the  meteoric  one  —  John,  is  it?  —  is  com- 
ing home." 

"  No.  There  I  have  the  latest  information, 
Mary.  He  was  expected,  but  he  isn't  coming. 
His  father  was  here  this  morning  on  some  busi- 
ness about  Indian  education.  He  had  just  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  John  saying  that  he  had 
been  obliged  to  change  his  plans.  He  is  going 
to  the  Littoral  —  if  you  know  where  that  is  —  on 
some  exploring  expedition.  Old  Mr.  Rolfe  was 
quite  cut  up  about  it.  I  never  saw  him  so  out 
of  spirits.  It  does  seem  too  bad  that  that  old 
gentleman  should  be  left  alone  so  much.  Some 
of  his  sons  —  and  John  is  the  only  available  one 
now  —  ought  to  be  with  him  all  the  time." 


JUSTINA.  45 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  this  fragment  of  Eas- 
terly conversation  will  not  be  mistaken  by  the 
reader  for  gossip.  Easterly  is  above  gossip; 
but  she  feels  a  deep  and  sympathetic  concern 
in  the  affairs  of  her  first  families.  Why  not? 
What  subject  can  be  of  such  interest  to  the  Ray- 
monds and  the  Beverlys  and  the  Smiths  and 
the  Wiltons  as  the  fortunes  of  these  same  Ray- 
monds and  Beverlys  and  Smiths  and  Wiltons, 
and  the  less  aboriginal  but  even  more  distin- 
guished Rolfes? 


VI. 

JUSTINA  found  her  uncle  among  his  bottles 
and  retorts,  in  his  long  brown  gown,  looking  as 
if  he  had  just  stepped  out  of  Auerbach's  Keller 
or  Friar  Bacon's  cave.  He  suspended  his  ma- 
nipulations to  shake  hands  with  her,  mildly  sur- 
prised to  see  her  so  tall,  hospitably  anxious  for 
her  comfort,  but  quite  at  a  loss  as  to  any  means 
of  procuring  it,  and  gratefully  leaving  the  prob- 
lem to  herself  and  Hannah. 

Her  arrival  was  in  the  morning,  and  she  did 
not  see  her  host  again  till  six  o'clock,  —  the  time 
of  the  heterogeneous  American  tea,  —  when  he 
came  down  in  conventional  citizen's  dress,  ready 
to  talk,  and  greatly  pleased  that  his  niece  ex- 
hibited an  unusual  readiness  and  ingenuity  in 
communicating  with  him.  At  ten  o'clock  punct- 
ually they  returned  to  the  dining-room.  Han- 
nah came  in,  bringing  a  kitchen  chair  for  her 
o\vn  use.  A  bottle  of  sherry,  a  wine-glass,  — 
two  to-night,  in  honor  of  the  guest,  —  and  a 
basket  of  English  biscuits  were  set  on  the  side- 
board. Then  Hannah  retired  to  her  seat,  folded 
her  arms  over  her  white  apron,  and  they  listened 


JUSTIN  A.  47 

to  the  reading  of  the  evening  chapter  and  prayer. 
There  was  a  third  listener,  Fidele,  the  dog,  who 
sat  on  the  edge  of  the  rug,  with  one  eye  on  his 
master  and  one  on  the  sideboard.  Promptly  at 
the  "Amen"  the  restless  tail  gave  a  decided 
thump  on  the  floor,  and  with  a  series  of  barks 
the  pretty  creature  caracoled  about  his  master 
during  the  progress  to  the  sideboard.  Here  he 
received  a  biscuit  or  two,  after  disposing  of 
which  he  was  carried  off  by  Hannah  to  bed. 

The  philosopher  presumably  gave  the  night 
to  his  researches.  Indeed  the  family  was  often 
made  aware  of  this  by  some  terrific  din  proceed- 
ing from  his  room.  He  made  no  appearance  in 
the  morning  till  his  ten  o'clock  breakfast,  at 
which  Justina  was  free  to  join  him,  unless  she 
preferred  an  earlier  repast.  She  chose  his  com- 
pany, silent  'and  abstracted  though  she  found 
him  at  that  time.  And  then  she  was  left  to  her 
own  devices  till  six  o'clock  came  round  again. 
This  routine,  invariable  as  the  day,  continued  so 
long  as  they  lived  together. 

Easterly,  not  always  gracious  to  new-comers, 
kindly  welcomed  dear  Sarah  Wilton's  orphan 
daughter.  Mary  Beverly  called  the  second  day. 
"  I  thought  you  would  be  rested  by  this  time," 
she  said,  "  and  might  be  curious  to  see  a  native." 
Mrs.  Beverly  Smith  sent  the  loveliest  flowers 
and  an  affectionate  note  begging  the  daughter 


48  JUSTINA. 

of  her  dear  old  friend  to  come  and  see  her 
very  soon.  Mrs.  Beverly  Smith  made  no  calls. 
Everybody  called  on  her.  Why?  Not  because 
she  was  aged,  not  because  she  was  ill.  I  sup- 
pose because  she  was  Mrs.  Beverly  Smith,  and 
everybody  liked  to  go  to  see  her.  She  was  so 
agreeable.  The  old  house  was  so  charming. 
Her  presence  in  her  low  broad  rooms  was  so 
perfect  an  effect.  Her  parlors  without  her 
looked  cold.  Herself  without  her  parlors  looked 
a  little  like  a  lost  child. 

But  Justina's  most  intimate  relations  were 
with  the  friends  she  had  met  in  London  and 
in  whose  company  her  later  travels  had  been 
accomplished.  When  Paul  Beverly  had  taken 
possession  of  her  in  the  resounding  dimness  of 
Euston  Square,  and  borne  her  off  in  triumph  to 
his  mother,  she  had  felt  a  comfortable  warmth 
and  homeliness  that  was  good  to  feel  after  her 
solitude  and  her  adventures,  and  it  was  not 
easily  lost. 

Mrs.  Raymond  Beverly,  senior,  was  the  wife 
of  a  diplomatic  servant  of  the  United  States 
whose  duties  often  lay  in  lands  and  climates  un- 
congenial to  her.  She  was  familiar  with  most 
of  the  high  places  of  the  earth,  at  home  in  Paris 
or  in  Easterly.  She  had  stood  before  kings  and 
been  admired  by  them  for  her  easy  grace.  She 
had  warmed  the  hearts  of  beggars  of  every 


JUSTINA.  49 

name  and  degree.  She  was  the  most  delightful 
of  the  women  of  the  world,  quick-witted  and 
vivacious,  her  manners  marked  by  that  delicate 
consideration  for  others  which  is  so  nearly  love, 
by  that  graceful  setting  aside  of  self  which  is  so 
nearly  humility.  So  nearly,  did  I  say?  Thank 
Heaven,  it  is  not  for  us  to  search  out  degrees  and 
differences  in  these  things  !  Thank  Heaven,  in 
many  cases  we  may  be  sure  that  these  fair 
flowers  of  courtesy  spring  from  the  deepest  of 
roots ! 

The  two  sons  of  the  house  of  Beverly  —  Ray- 
mond, junior,  the  lawyer,  and  Paul,  the  physi- 
cian—  were  returning  to  establish  themselves  in 
their  native  town.  They  were  men  of  good 
parts  rather  than  men  of  special  and  positive 
bias.  Every  power  had  been  developed  and 
cultivated  to  a  rarely  symmetrical  result.  "I 
have  no  girls,  I  must  try  to  give  my  boys  a  few 
of  the  graces,"  their  mother  had  pleaded  in  ex- 
cuse for  her  somewhat  unusual  method  of  edu- 
cation. And  visitors  at  the  house  when  the  boys 
were  at  the  most  uninteresting  stages  of  boy- 
hood told  charming  tales  of  their  domesticity, 
their  tact,  their  accomplishments,  their  powers  of 
entertaining,  —  above  all,  of  their  graceful  devo- 
tion to  their  pretty  mamma.  They  had  appar- 
ently lost  nothing  by  their  mother's  system  of 
education,  and  they  had  gained  in  some  fine 
4 


50  JUSTINA. 

characteristics  not  conspicuous  in  the  men  of 
to-day. 

Raymond  had  early  fallen  in  love  with  a 
young  Western  girl  and  brought  her  home  to 
his  mother.  Easterly  shuddered  a  little  at  the 
suddenness  and  strangeness  of  the  proceeding, 
and  wondered  what  Mrs.  Beverly  would  do. 
And  what  Mrs.  Beverly  did  was  to  smile  more 
sunnily  than  ever  and  to  say  to  everybody: 
"  Have  you  heard  the  news?  Do  you  know  my 
Raymond  has  brought  me  home  the  gift  I  have 
longed  for  all  my  life,  —  a  daughter,  a  lovely 
daughter?" 

A  lovely  daughter  Berta  had  proved.  Eas- 
terly itself  soon  smiled  with  Mrs.  Beverly,  and 
recked  not  that  this  dear  creature  came  of  an 
unknown  tribe  of  Browns  of  Iowa,  and  was  by 
no  means  to  be  traced  to  the  womb  of  the 
"  Mayflower. " 

The  simplest  things  are  the  most  difficult  to 
describe;  and  Mrs.  Berta  was  so  simple,  so 
individual,  that  it  was  always  the  despair  of  her 
friends  to  classify  her,  to  make  those  who  had 
not  seen  her  cognizant  of  her.  "  Is  she  beauti- 
ful? Is  she  wise?  Is  she  witty?"  people  would 
ask.  "What  is  the  charm?"  " Wait  till  you  see 
her,"  was  always  the  triumphant  answer.  "Wait 
till  you  see  her.  She  is  herself,  and  indefina- 
ble." There  was  a  certain  delicate  birth-mark, 


JUSTINA.  51 

a  slight  and  subtle  dimple  in  a  favored  spot, 
which  had  been  given  this  child  in  her  cradle. 
Justina  often  watched  the  little  evasive  twinkling 
point,  and  thought  it  a  lovely  symbol  of  that 
subtle  spiritual  charm  so  inseparable  from  Berta, 
so  intangible.  For  Justina  came  to  love  this 
woman  very  earnestly.  Though  its  progress 
was  silent,  perhaps  a  little  slow,  the  foundations 
of  their  friendship  were  in  later  years  found  to 
be  laid  in  the  deep  places  of  each  of  their 
natures. 

It  was  pretty  to  see  the  two  young  women  as 
they  walked  their  daily  mile  together  on  the 
steamer's  deck  in  the  early  stages  of  their  ac- 
quaintance. Mrs.  Beverly,  swathed  and  bound 
in  her  chair,  shone  upon  them  with  serene  ma- 
tronly smiles  as  they  described  their  orbit  about 
her,  and  passengers  turned  to  look  after  them, 
and  envied  the  two  young  men  who  threw  away 
their  cigars  and  advanced  to  them  with  airs  of 
appropriation.  They  often  broke  away  from 
these  protectors.  They  penetrated  all  parts  of 
the  ship.  They  invaded  the  second  cabin,  the 
steerage,  the  surgery,  under  conveyance  of  the 
surgeon,  who  became  their  devoted  guide.  They 
passed  hours  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  en- 
gine, fascinated  before  resistless  force.  They  ran 
shuddering  far  up  into  the  dark,  palpitating  ex- 
tremity of  the  bow.  Berta  was  always  half  a 


52  JUSTIN  A. 

child,  and  Justina's  spirits  at  this  time  were  high. 
Change,  expectation,  life  opening  its  unread 
romance  before  her  eyes,  —  she  was  somewhat 
intoxicated  by  it  all. 

Each  of  these  women  had  her  little  reserves, 
her  quiet,  deep  wells  of  feeling  or  of  experience, 
which  she  was  not  yet  ready  to  uncover.  Once 
after  they  reached  home,  during  one  of  their 
walks,  as  they  sat  by  a  roadside  looking  off  on 
the  purple  autumn  hills,  Berta  spoke  briefly  of 
her  baby,  —  its  little  life  and  death,  —  catching 
herself  quickly  up  again,  and  returning  to  the 
commonplace.  Justina  kept  reverent  silence. 
But  in  a  few  days  she  too  lifted  the  lid  of  her 
treasure-box  and  told  a  little  story  of  that  quiet 
spot  in  the  old  Bonn  churchyard.  This  was  her 
return,  understood  and  accepted  by  her  friend. 

It  remains  to  introduce  Dr.  Paul  Beverly 
somewhat  more  particularly  to  the  reader.  And 
perhaps  no  better  time  can  be  chosen  for  that 
ceremony  than  a  certain  keen  still  March  day  at 
the  end  of  Justina's  first  winter  in  Easterly.  The 
young  man  is  driving  rapidly  home  from  an  out- 
lying mill  village.  He  is  glowing  with  inward 
warmth  and  happiness.  He  has  had  a  serious 
case  of  croup,  and  he  now  thinks  he  is  going  to 
save  the  child's  life.  The  manly  fellow  was  con- 
scious just  now  of  a  singular  constriction  in  his 
throat  as  he  told  the  mother  the  good  news  in 


JUSTIN  A.  53 

that  cramped,  dingy  bedroom.  Out  in  the  open 
air  his  spirits  are  like  a  boy's.  He  is  singing 
and  whistling  by  turns,  and  wondering  what  he 
will  do  with  himself  for  the  remainder  of  this 
crystal  day.  He  passes  the  pond — ah,  he  has 
it !  He  urges  his  horse  and,  reaching  the  town, 
passes  the  gates  of  his  own  place  and  turns  into 
quiet  Spring  Street,  where  Mr.  Wilton  lives.  Will 
Miss  Wilton  come  and  skate  with  him?  It  is  a 
glorious  day.  There  will  not  be  many  such  now. 
The  ice  is  perfect.  Perhaps  Berta  will  go,  and 
Raymond,  if  he  can  get  out  of  his  office,  and 
Mary  Beverly. 

In  an  hour  the  party  is  tramping  down  the 
frozen  road,  Paul  by  Justina's  side. 

"  For  once  I  am  sorry  to  have  spring  come," 
Justina  says.  "  How  I  have  enjoyed  this  win- 
ter !  "  Her  soft  cheek  is  tinged  with  a  lovely 
color.  The  dark  lashes  lie  like  silk  over  the  del- 
icate skin,  and  when  she  lifts  her  gray-brown 
eyes  they  look  out  clear  and  full.  "  Do  you 
know,  I  never  before  seemed  to  come  near  to  the 
heart  of  winter.  I  have  known  winter  only  in 
cities,  —  dingy  snow  piled  up  in  the  streets,  cold 
winds,  and  general  uncomfortableness ;  a  good 
deal  of  gayety,  to  be  sure,  but  not  the  gayety  of 
Nature.  I  think  I  have  actually  had  a  notion 
that  Nature  hid  herself  for  half  the  year." 

Paul    looked   at  her  with  shining  eyes.     His 


54  JUSTINA. 

own  exhilaration  was  reproduced  in  her,  and 
very  charming  it  was  to  find  it  there.  They 
laughed  and  chatted  in  concert,  and  ran  down 
the  hill  to  the  pond  like  two  children. 

They  v/alked  the  earth  together,  these  two 
young  creatures  to-day,  fine  specimens  of  ri- 
pening manhood  and  womanhood.  They  were 
equals  in  purity,  in  purpose,  in  high  endowment. 
Physical  soundness  nearly  perfect  was  theirs, 
youth  with  its  unspeakable  advantage,  commu- 
nity of  tastes,  of  interests,  of  affections.  It  was 
a  noble  harmony.  It  seemed  that  there  was 
scarcely  a  word  to  be  said,  and  these  two  lives 
would  naturally  flow  together  like  two  fair 
streams  into  a  rich  and  fruitful  river.  It  seemed 
that  there  was  but  a  hand  to  reach  out,  and  the 
best  earthly  destiny  was  secure  to  them.  This 
probability  was  so  obvious  to  those  who  saw 
them  together  that  whispered  prophecies  were 
already  on  many  lips.  It  was  not  strange  that 
Paul's  mother  should  often  catch  herself  follow- 
ing the  two  with  eyes  of  pride  and  tenderness. 
And  this  afternoon  Berta  and  her  husband,  skat- 
ing off  hand  in  hand  across  the  pond,  could  not 
help  exchanging  a  meaning  glance  and  agreeing 
that  this  is  a  very  happy  world. 

It  was  a  happy  three  hours,  at  all  events.  They 
brought  their  sport  to  an  end  regretfully.  Paul, 
kneeling  at  Justina's  feet,  unlocked  her  skates 


JUSTIN  A.  55 

with  the  key  which  she  handed  down  to  him. 
Something  went  wrong  with  one  of  the  locks. 
It  was  a  work  of  time  to  free  the  slender  foot. 
Then  there  were  overshoes  to  be  buttoned  on. 
Then  ice  and  snow  which  had  gathered  about 
the  edge  of  her  gown  must  be  brushed  away. 
"Thank  you,"  she  said,  when  he  was  done; 
"you  are  an  excellent  valet!" 

Lightest  of  speeches !  But  he  looked  up 
flushed  and  earnest,  lifting  his  cap  from  his 
head,  a  smile  of  hope  in  his  eyes,  — 

"  Miss  Wilton,  —  'Tina,  —  let  me  serve  you 
always !  " 

Before  they  were  spoken  she  saw  the  words 
in  his  face.  Oh !  why  had  she  let  him  say  this 
thing?  Swifter  than  lightning  came  to  her  the 
revelation  of  what  other  eyes  had  been  see- 
ing all  these  months.  Swifter  than  lightning 
came  to  him  the  first  cloud  over  to-day's  sky,  the 
first  break  in  this  harmony,  that  sudden  fear  and 
shrinking  in  her  face.  She  put  out  her  hand, 
and  almost  before  the  words  had  left  his  lips, 
"  Please  don't,  Dr.  Beverly ! "  she  cried  out. 
Then  she  dropped  her  eyes.  How  harsh  the 
words  sounded ! 

The  young  man  rose  to  his  feet.  He  looked 
at  her  steadily  for  a  moment  in  silence,  at  the 
graceful  height  and  mien,  at  the  drooping  face 
now  slightly  turned  aside.  He  was  generous. 


56  JUS  TIN  A 

In  his  constitutional  hopefulness,  in  his  warm 
love,  which  must  certainly  of  its  own  force  bring 
returning  love,  he  felt  tolerably  secure.  He 
would  wait.  He  saw  she  was  not  ready. 

"  Then,  Miss  Wilton,"  he  said,  with  a  kindly 
strength  which  brought  her  eyes  at  once  to  his, 
"  then,  if  you  say  so,  I  will  not  now.  But  I  warn 
you,  —  I  give  you  fair  warning,  —  I  shall  some 
day.  Now  let  me  have  your  skates.  Hello ! 
Raymond!  Berta !  What's  the  hurry?  We'll 
be  there  in  a  minute." 


VII. 

V 

Two  years  from  the  time  of  her  arrival  in 
Easterly,  and  Miss  Wilton  wakes  one  morning 
to  find  herself  famous,  the  little  house  in 
Spring  Street  one  of  the  most  attractive  cen- 
tres of  Easterly  social  life.  "The  Wiltons' 
Thursday  evenings "  had  come  about  in  the 
most  natural  way  in  the  world.  They  had 
been  a  growth ;  but  they  were  an  achievement, 
nevertheless. 

Two  types  of  festivity  had  been  known  to 
Easterly,  —  the  stately  dinners  at  the  Rolfes'  and 
the  Beverlys',  the  soul-engrossing  tea-parties  of 
the  less  travelled  and  more  conservative  gentry. 
What  sorcery  was  this  which  could  put  so  much 
gracious  hospitality  into  a  cup  of  chocolate  and 
a  biscuit?  The  very  wine  and  essence  of  so- 
ciality were  in  those  little  cups.  The  men  de- 
clared openly  in  favor  of  this  innovation,  and 
said  unkind  things  of  the  laborious  successes  of 
the  old  regime.  The  women  were  a  little  doubt- 
ful of  these  foreign  arts,  and  but  for  the  eminent 
countenance  she  received,  Justina's  success  might 
have  been  less  assured. 


58  JUSTIN  A. 

"  How  do  you  do  it?  "  asked  Mrs.  Beverly 
Smith.  "Delia  says- your  little  entertainments 
are  so  charming.  If  I  ever  went  anywhere,  I 
should  certainly  come  and  see  how  you  do  it. 
I  could  n't  preside  over  a  cup  of  chocolate  and 
a  biscuit  to  save  my  life." 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Smith,"  answered  wise  Justina, 
"  the  silver  teapots  and  wax  candles  and  delect- 
able comfits  belong  to  you.  Who  else  could 
hope  to  sit  at  the  head  of  a  table  as  you  can  ?  " 

The  Thursday  evenings,  I  said,  had  been  a 
growth.  Mr.  Wilton  himself  had  long  ago 
formed  the  germ  in  his  custom  of  receiving 
visitors  only  after  nightfall.  "It  is  the  habit 
of  a  lifetime,"  he  said.  "  I  cannot  talk  by  day- 
light. I  must  be  taking  in  then,  I  must  be  see- 
ing." And  so,  from  morning  till  night,  he  was 
for  the  most  part  inaccessible, — shut  up  with  his 
books  and  his  bottles,  or  walking  in  rapid  silence 
over  wide  stretches  of  country,  —  locked  in  the 
impenetrable  solitude  of  his  deafness.  In  the 
evening,  with  his  writing-tablets  in  hand  and  his 
eye  alert  to  read  the  faces  of  those  about  him, 
communication  with  him  became  easier,  and  his 
friends  had  learned  to  come  to  him  at  that  time 
for  what  he  might  have  to  impart  to  them.  This 
custom  was  the  nucleus.  Occasional  biscuits  and 
sherry  when  a  guest  stayed  late,  occasional  sub- 
stitution of  chocolate  or  tea  after  Justina's  acces- 


JUSTINA.  59 

sion,  a  tendency  of  friends  to  congregate  on  the 
least  generally  occupied  evening  of  the  week, 
more  chocolate,  more  friends,  more  consensus 
toward  Thursday,  —  you  have  the  steps  of  the 
development.  At  the  end  of  two  years  the 
Thursday  evenings  were. 

Among  Mr.  Wilton's  old  friends,  and  a  fre- 
quent caller  under  both  the  old  and  the  new 
dispensations,  was  the  Honorable  St.  John  Rolfe, 
whom  Easterly  proudly  conceded  to  be  her  most 
distinguished  citizen.  It  was  the  Rolfe  place  to 
which  strangers  who  visited  the  borough  were 
always  driven ;  whose  gates  stood  kindly  open 
to  the  public ;  whose  stretch  of  noble  park  was 
pronounced  delightfully  English  ;  whose  picture- 
gallery  and  conservatories,  also  open  on  cer- 
tain days,  were,  in  the  words  of  the  "  Easterly 
Daily,"  "  a  liberal  education."  It  was  the  Rolfe 
orphan  asylum  that  came  next  in  order,  and 
then  the  Rolfe  cottages,  —  each  an  exponent  of 
some  theory  of  the  patron. 

Mr.  Rolfe  was  a  man  of  no  business,  but  of 
many  businesses.  Partly  by  inheritance,  partly 
by  faithful  labor  in  early  life,  partly  by  fortunate 
ventures,  he  was  the  possessor  of  magnificent 
wealth.  Work  was  not  a  necessity  to  him ;  but 
he  loved  work,  and,  as  has  been  said  of  another 
distinguished  American,  he  now  pursued  it  as  a 
pastime.  He  was  of  American  birth,  but  had 


60  JUSTIN  A. 

passed  his  business  years  in  England.  America, 
however,  he  often  said,  he  considered  nearer  the 
millennial  state  than  any  other  land.  Hither  he 
had  returned  to  expend  his  money  and  the 
ceaseless  activities  of  his  later  life. 

A  man  of  not  too  keen  feelings,  but  of  the 
healthiest  tastes  and  tendencies.  A  man  in- 
terested in  all  social  problems.  A  man  always 
on  the  right  side.  He  was  engaged  in  endless 
affairs  in  connection  with  various  philanthropic 
enterprises.  You  would  find  his  name  in  almost 
any  list  of  vice-presidents  of  benevolent  societies 
that  might  fall  into  your  hand.  He  was  a  faith- 
ful and  hopeful  supporter  of  the  Peace  Society, 
an  advocate  of  Temperance,  a  promoter  of  In- 
dian Education,  pledged  to  Prison  Reform  and 
the  Anti-Divorce  Society.  Until  within  a  few 
years  the  brisk,  compact  figure  of  the  Easterly 
millionnaire  was  often  to  be  seen  hurrying  to  the 
train  to  be  present  and  preside  at  some  congress 
or  other.  In  the  days  of  the  old  May  anniver- 
saries in  New  York,  who  so  smiling,  so  busy,  so 
ubiquitous  as  St.  John  Rolfe?  Now  he  more 
seldom  made  his  way  to  the  great  assemblies. 
But  when  he  did  go,  place  was  reserved  for  him 
at  the  front  of  the  platform,  and  handsome  allu- 
sions were  made  by  the  speakers  to  this  honored 
veteran,  whose  hairs  had  grown  white  in  the 
service  of  whatever  cause  it  might  be.  His  face 


JUS  TINA.  6 1 

was  that  of  the  American  gentleman,  the  ori- 
ginal sharpness  softened  by  culture,  broadened 
by  prosperity.  His  speech  was  clear,  crisp, 
above  all  business-like.  He  had  no  magnetism. 
That  quality  he  had  left  to  his  wife  —  who  was 
long  ago  dead  —  and  to  one  or  two  of  his  sons. 
He  impressed  men  by  his  cool  common  sense, 
politely  tendered.  He  never  set  an  audience  on 
fire  in  spite  of  itself. 

The  bond  between  this  affair^  little  man  and 
the  old  alchemist,  her  uncle,  had  been  somewhat 
obscure  to  Justina,  and  she  rightly  judged  their 
intercourse  to  be  largely  the  result  of  Mr.  Rolfe's 
persistence  in  all  social  proprieties.  She  found, 
however,  that  they  had  common  ground  in  their 
interest  in  Mr.  Rolfe's  absent  son,  John,  of  whom 
they  often  spoke,  —  a  man  now  nearing  middle 
age,  who  had  already  made  for  himself  a  solid  re- 
putation as  a  naturalist.  John  Rolfe  liked  to  con- 
fess how  much  he  owed  to  the  eccentric  Easterly 
philosopher,  his  former  tutor,  and  Justin  Wil- 
ton on  his  part  watched  the  younger  man's  career 
with  interest,  and  was  proud  of  his  successes. 
He  was  always  pleased  when  Mr.  Rolfe  brought 
him  news  of  John,  or  an  article  over  John's 
signature  in  some  scientific  journal.  The  thick 
blue  or  yellow  pamphlets  often  made  their  ap- 
pearance of  a  Thursday  evening,  held  slightly 
open  by  Mr.  Rolfe's  long,  nervous  fingers,  and 


62  JUSTIN  A. 

interleaved  with  letters  on  divorce  or  Indian 
business,  invitations  to  speak  or  petitions  to 
sign.  Mr.  Rolfe  never  looked  like  himself 
without  papers  in  his  hand,  —  a  half-open  let- 
ter or  two,  a  stylographic  pen  aloft.  He  had 
always  just  received,  or  was  just  replying  to, 
some  communication,  or  jotting  down  notes 
for  some  other.  He  was  pursued  by  telegraph 
boys,  and  always  begging  to  be  excused  while 
he  dashed  off  an  answer. 

Justina  smiled  as  she  recalled  the  picture  of 
the  small,  net,  high-bred  old  man  laying  aside 
his  papers  or  gathering  them  in  his  left  hand 
in  order  to  pass  her  cups  for  her.  It  was  a  pic- 
ture symbolic  of  her  social  success,  of  the  as- 
sured status  of  the  Thursday  evenings.  Easterly 
had  adopted  Justina  Wilton.  She  smiled  as  she 
looked  back  over  the  two  years.  She  laughed 
audibly — her  rich,  low,  maidenly  laugh  —  as 
she  remembered  an  early  faux  pas  of  her  own. 
"Who  is  this  Mr.  Rolfe?"  she  had  asked  of  a 
neighbor  at  a  tea-party.  And  the  withering 
stare  which  greeted  her  question  she  never  re- 
membered without  being  moved  to  laughter. 
Good  heavens !  not  to  know  the  Rolfes !  But 
Easterly,  she  believed,  had  forgiven  her.  It  had 
adopted  the  alien.  It  had  almost  forgotten  that 
she  had  had  the  misfortune  to  be  born  elsewhere. 

Justina  was  lying  in  bed  this  morning  watch- 


JUSTINA.  63 

ing  the  light  creep  over  the  hills  as  she  medi- 
tated, and  her  thoughts  wandered  somewhat 
disconnectedly  backward  over  the  two  years, 
and  forward  into  the  future.  Girls  like  to  take 
note  of  anniversaries.  They  like  to  think  about 
their  lives,  to  read  over  the  chapters  of  their 
own  little  stories,  and  wonder  what  is  coming 
next.  And  just  as  she  had  peered  into  the 
gray  Flemish  distance  that  day  two  years  ago 
in  search  of  what  was  coming,  so  here  to-day, 
in  her  own  chamber,  she  was  still  entertaining 
her  little  problem,  not  anxiously,  but  with  a 
sweet  and  girlish  interest. 

Justina  recognized  herself  to-day  as  growing 
old.  She  was  twenty-three,  or,  as  she  put  it 
to  herself,  nearly  twenty-four.  She  had  passed 
through  more  than  one  attack  of  the  restlessness 
natural  to  her  age,  —  the  desire  to  be  doing  some 
definite  thing  in  life.  She  had  had  many  uncom- 
fortable doubts  as  to  her  position  in  her  uncle's 
house.  For  the  first  days,  for  weeks,  for  months, 
she  had  waited  for  him  to  establish  some  definite 
relations  between  them.  This  lonely  man,  living 
his  silent,  absorbed  life,  what  would  he  have  of 
her?  What  impulse  had  stirred  him  to  send  for 
her?  Some  memory  of  the  woman's  presence 
so  long  ago  lost?  Some  present  want  which 
his  brother's  child  might  fill?  These  questions 
were  long  unanswered.  They  were  never  fully 


64  JUSTINA. 

answered.  She  was  obliged  to  satisfy  herself 
with  her  uncle's  look  of  pleased  surprise  when 
they  met  at  the  table  or  about  the  house.  It 
was  clearly  agreeable  to  him  to  be  reminded  of 
her  existence.  With  this  she  must  be  content. 

One  summer  morning,  when  he  called  for  her 
French  coffee-pot,  which  she  had  seen  him  cu- 
riously examining  on  the  sideboard,  and  desired 
that  it  should  henceforth  appear  daily  on  the 
table,  she  felt  that  she  had  made  a  beginning 
towards  finding  her  place.  She  sent  him  a  bril- 
liant smile  over  the  steaming  cup  of  amber  when 
it  was  ready,  and  ventured  to  lay  a  morning- 
glory  on  the  tray  beside  it.  And  after  breakfast 
she  hurried  away  to  the  more  doubtful  task  of 
subjugating  Hannah.  She  exercised  her  rarest 
skill,  and  won  a  decisive  victory.  "  She 's  a 
born  lady,  she  knows  what  she  wants,"  was 
the  verdict  of  the  kitchen;  and  henceforth 
Miss  Wilton's  little  kingdom  was  secure  on  that 
side. 

She  had  waited  content  a  year,  entangling 
herself,  meanwhile,  with  the  endless  engage- 
ments that  await  a  young  lady  in  a  New  Eng- 
land town.  She  had  lent  herself  to  the  various 
social  clubs,  to  the  district  visitation,  to  the 
Sunday-school.  But  she  felt  herself  merely 
lent.  She  had  no  special  place,  no  work  that 
must  be  done.  Her  restlessness  returned  upon 


JUSTIN  A.  65 

her.  She  made  up  her  mind  that  the  thing 
must  be  settled.  She  chose  a  quiet  evening 
and  spoke  to  her  uncle  boldly  about  it.  What 
did  he  wish  of  her?  What  did  he  advise?  Here 
were  her  accomplishments,  at  finger's  end,  at 
tongue's  end.  She  was  not  too  proud  to  use 
them.  That  possibility  had  always  been  in  her 
thoughts,  and  in  her  mother's  thoughts  for 
her.  Should  she  go  away  and  teach,  and  be 
useful? 

Something  seemed  to  fade  out  of  the  old 
man's  still  and  patient  face  as  she  spoke.  Cer- 
tainly it  had  not  been  bright  before,  but  some- 
thing faded  out  of  it,  and  the  girl  watching, 
warmed  with  her  words,  and  waiting  for  the 
effect,  felt  that  look  an  answer.  It  was  not  all 
the  answer  he  gave  her,  however.  An  old  guitar 
hung,  by  a  ribbon  which  perhaps  had  once  been 
blue,  —  it  was  now  dingy  white,  —  on  the  wall 
of  the  dull  little  parlor.  Justina  had  often  been 
touched  by  this  mute,  pathetic  sign.  Its  music 
the  old  man  had  never  heard,  but  it  represented 
to  him  what  had  been  richest  in  his  life.  He 
lifted  his  hand  now  silently  toward  this  guitar, 
dropping  it  quickly  again  by  his  side.  "  I  have 
been  lonely,  I  hoped  you  would  stay,"  he  said 
simply.  Justina  was  sitting  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  fire  from  him,  the  lamp  shining  strong 
upon  her,  that  he  might  read  her  lips  as  she 
5 


66  JUSTINA. 

spoke.  A  lovely  light  rose  now  on  her  face, 
and  she  swiftly  crossed  to  him  and  laid  both 
her  hands  in  his.  "  I  will  stay  always,  uncle," 
she  said.  He  could  not  hear  her  words,  nor 
could  he  see  her  face  in  the  shadow;  but  he 
knew  himself  answered.  She,  too,  knew  her 
questions  set  at  rest.  She  had  all  a  woman 
wants,  —  some  one  to  whom  she  is  essential. 

Justina  sprang  out  of  bed,  interrupting  her- 
self in  these  reminiscences.  It  was  high  time 
she  was  up.  There  was  much  on  the  programme 
for  to-day.  First  in  importance  a  wedding,  —  a 
wedding  in  the  small  room  off  the  kitchen  which 
Hannah  called  the  "servants'  'all."  Miss  Wilton, 
soon  after  her  establishment  in  her  uncle's 
household,  found  herself  taking  that  interest 
in  the  domestic  circle  about  her  which  comes 
in  its  season  to  every  woman  of  true  and  healthy 
nature.  Hannah  and  her  somewhat  numerous 
tribe  came  in  for  a  share  of  friendly  concern. 
There  was  a  young  step-sister  of  Hannah,  a 
pretty  Irish- American  girl,  with  auburn  frizzes 
and  jaunty  hat  and  high  spirits,  who  came  often 
to  the  house  and  who  had  made  herself  useful 
as  waitress  on  the  Thursday  evenings.  Justina 
inherited  an  exquisite  manner  with  servants, — 
that  grace  which  can  no  more  be  taught  or  ac- 
quired than  an  ear  for  music.  Servants  always 
felt  that  she  truly  cared  for  them,  yet  few  would 


JUSTIN  A.  67 

venture  to  presume  on  that  assurance.  In  this 
case  the  relation  had  been  of  the  pleasantest. 
Miss  Wilton  always  had  a  kindly  word  for  Katy, 
and  bestowed  upon  her,  in  addition  to  the  usual 
cast-off  ribbons,  such  little  hints  and  influences 
as  produced  a  revolution  in  the  girl's  ideas  of 
elegance. 

Justina  had  often  met  this  girl  walking  of  a  Sun- 
day afternoon  with  one  young  man  or  another. 
But  she  was  surprised  when  Hannah  announced, 
one  day,  that  Katy  was  to  be  married  that  week. 
"  To  be  married?  "  said  Justina.  "  Has  she  been 
engaged  long?  I  did  not  suspect  any  special 
friend.  Who  is  the  young  man?  " 

"  Well,  miss,"  confessed  Hannah,  "  I  don't 
rightly  know  myself  which  of  the  fellows  it  is. 
But  she  was  saying  all  the  girls  of  her  age  was 
getting  married,  and  she  guessed  she  would 
too." 

"How  old  is  she?"  asked  Justina. 

"  Oh  !   she 's  going  on  twenty." 

"Is  she  happy  about  this?  Does  she  care 
for  the  man  ?  " 

"  Well,  miss,  I  'm  sure  I  don't  rightly  know 
about  that,"  answered  Hannah  with  a  grin. 
"  Most  young  girls  is  pleased  to  be  married. 
I  remember  as  I  was  myself,  though  I  was 
mighty  sorry  afterward." 

Justina  gave  up  the  attempt  to  bring  the  case 


68  JUSTIN  A. 

to  her  own  standard  in  such  matters;  but  she 
resolved  that  Katy  should  have  a  pretty  wed- 
ding. Every  girl  likes  that.  She  could  not 
go  wrong  there.  And  so,  to-day,  she  helped 
Hannah  decorate  the  servants'  room  with  gay 
September  flowers,  and  in  the  dining-room  she 
set  out  her  own  pretty  coffee-service  and  a 
generous  bride's  loaf.  Dr.  Gray  came  at  the 
appointed  hour  with  his  white  surplice  under 
his  arm.  A  giggling,  bashful  trio  of  girls  and 
two  or  three  unhappy  looking  young  men  be- 
sieged the  side  door,  the  bridegroom,  white- 
gloved  and  very  red,  among  them,  and  the 
bride,  carrying  off  everything,  as  usual,  with  a 
jaunty  air. 

Miss  Wilton  herself  served  the  blushing  com- 
pany. "  I  want  you  always  to  have  a  pleasant 
thought  of  your  wedding-day,"  she  said  as  she 
gave  her  hand  to  the  pair.  And  the  bride- 
groom, in  a  transport  of  awkward  gratitude, 
lifted  the  delicate  hand  to  his  lips.  She  liked 
him  for  the  manliness  which  shone  through  all 
his  distress  in  this  novel  situation,  and  quite 
believed  him  what  Hannah  pronounced  him, 
—  "  an  honest  fellow." 

"  I  think  you  will  be  good  to  Katy,"  she  said ; 
"  and  Katy,"  —  she  added  with  her  smile,  — 
"  Katy  knows  how  to  make  a  very  happy  home 
for  you." 


JUSTIN  A.  69 

For  a  long  time  Dr.  Gray  remembered  this 
pretty  scene,  —  the  graceful,  gracious  lady  wait- 
ing on  these  guests  and  lending  her  high  ideal 
to  this  humble  marriage-feast. 


VIII. 

JUSTINA  went  from  her  little  wedding  to  make 
herself  ready  for  the  dinner  at  the  Beverlys, 
which  was  another  part  of  the  day's  programme. 
In  the  level  light  of  the  late  afternoon  she  walked 
up  the  hill,  in  her  simple,  graceful  costume,  her 
gold-brown  hair  shining,  her  rich  cheek  glowing. 
Justina's  walking  was  something  good  to  see. 
Swift,  vigorous,  incessant,  the  play  of  muscle 
was  nevertheless  so  harmonious  as  to  give  an 
effect  almost  of  repose.  Her  spirits  to-day  were 
as  light  as  her  footsteps.  She  was  always  glad 
to  go  to  the  Beverlys ;  and  altogether  life  looked 
a  pleasant  thing  under  these  golden  September 
skies. 

After  dinner  they  all  came  out  to  the  porch, 
glad  to  keep  up  the  fashion  of  the  summer. 
The  day  had  been  one  of  the  warmest  of  the 
season,  and  only  the  early  sunset  warned  them 
that  winter  was  near.  Paul  extended  himself  on 
one  of  the  long  canvas  chairs.  Justina  took  a 
low  seat  by  his  side  and  received  his  instruc- 
tions in  regard  to  the  game  of  tennis,  lately 


JUSTIN  A.  71 

imported  from  England.  Raymond  and  Berta, 
the  married  lovers,  strolled  across  the  lawn  to 
the  seat  under  the  big  elm.  Mrs.  Beverly,  fair, 
smiling,  tinkling  with  ornaments,  drew  Mary's 
arm  within  hers  and  convoyed  her  down  the 
garden  to  look  at  Patrick's  fine  show  of  chrys- 
anthemums. "Of  course  I  like  chrysanthe- 
mums," answered  Mary  at  the  summons ;  "  I 
like  all  your  pretty  things,  Aunt  De." 

"  Mary,  what  a  nice  girl  you  are !  "  exclaimed 
the  third-remove  aunt  warmly,  drawing  her  arm 
a  little  closer. 

"Is  it  a  new  revelation?"  asked  Mary,  with 
her  engaging  smile. 

"  Yes,  it  is.  I  take  a  fresh  perception  of  you 
now  and  then,  and  it 's  pleasant.  Do  you  know 
you  should  n't  be  so  uninterruptedly  delightful, 
and  then  we  should  realize  you  better." 

Mary  bore  her  honors  meekly;  she  was  ac- 
customed to  them.  She  had  been  called  a  nice 
girl  since  she  was  thirteen,  and  she  always  would 
be  called  so.  And  even  if  she  had  some  slum- 
bering sense  that  she  was  something  more  than 
that,  she  was  satisfied.  She  was  nearly  always 
satisfied  with  what  came  to  her.  Life  had  been 
a  pleasant  story  to  her  all  the  way  along,  —  per- 
haps because  she  had  not  expected  great  things, 
only  looked  for  little  pleasant  things. 

To  a  spectator  Mary's  life  might  have  looked 


72  JUS  TIN  A. 

a  trifle  dull.  She  had  lived  very  quietly  with 
her  mother,  in  a  small  house,  on  a  small  scale, 
for  their  means  were  scanty.  They  had  their 
books,  their  few  good  friends,  their  charities, 
their  thoughts.  Mary  had  been  solidly  educated. 
Her  mind  had  been  disciplined  and  trained  as 
thoroughly  as  that  of  many  a  professional  man 
is  trained.  She  met  few  persons,  certainly  few 
men,  who  were  her  equals,  and  was  likely  to 
meet  few.  Such  women  are  the  consummate 
flower  of  New  England  civilization,  broadly  and 
soundly  cultured,  in  some  cases  positively 
learned,  yet  so  simple  that  they  are  known  first 
and  chiefly  as  "rice;"  niceness  in  the  inexact, 
comprehensive  New  England  sense  being,  indeed, 
their  most  prominent  characteristic.  Mary  Bev- 
erly would  have  made  a  noble  wife,  a  fitting  com- 
panion for  some  man  of  scholarship  and  posi- 
tion. But  where  was  this  man  to  find  Mary 
Beverly?  How  should  he  know  of  her?  The 
element  of  propinquity,  which  goes  for  so  much 
in  these  matters,  was  wanting.  There  were  no 
men  of  this  kind  in  Easterly,  excepting  those 
whose  lives  were  already  settled  for  them. 

"  Two  years  older  than  my  Paul,"  thought 
Mrs.  Beverly,  "  and  not  discovered  yet !  She 
never  will  be  discovered.  The  man  whom  she 
would  care  for,  the  man  who  absolutely  needs 
her,  is  thrown  every  day  with  some  pretty  shal- 


JUSTINA.  73 

low  creature  or  some  good  dry  one,  and  will  set 
up  his  home  long  before  he  sees  Mary  Beverly. 
At  some  cheap  boarding-house,  where  she  and 
her  mother  go  in  the  summer,  she  may  some- 
times meet  his  wife  and  children,  possibly  himself, 
when  this  thing  is  out  of  the  question.  She  will 
live  on  with  her  mother,  and  be  a  nice  girl  to 
the  end  of  her  days.  After  her  mother  dies  she 
will  be  lonely,  very;  but  she  will  always  have 
friends.  She  will  go  on  with  her  Society  for 
Home  Study,  and  her  Sunday-school,  and  her 
clubs,  and  never  grow  old,  and  always  be  nice." 

These  thoughts  were  rapidly  shaping  them- 
selves in  one  lobe  of  Mrs.  Beverly's  brain,  while 
with  the  other  she  was  keeping  up  the  briskest 
conversation  with  the  subject  of  them.  And 
unconscious  Mary  laughed  and  chatted  and 
admired  the  flowers. 

When  these  had  sufficed  them,  the  two  ladies 
walked  about  the  grounds  in  the  warm  dusk. 
They  stopped  a  few  minutes  under  the  trees  in 
what  was  known  as  the  "  evergreen  corner.'"  At 
this  point  the  broad  Rolfe  acres  touched  the 
lesser  Beverly  estate,  and  the  public  street,  mak- 
ing a  curve  in  that  direction,  skirted  them  both. 
A  street  lamp  of  the  flickering  gasoline  which 
Easterly  furnished  to  its  citizens  stood  at  this 
corner,  and  moths  and  flying  things  of  many 
descriptions  were  dancing  dizzily  about  the  flame, 


74  JUSTIN  A. 

enjoying   apparently  the  unexpected    lease    of 
life  given  by  the  warm  weather. 

When  Mrs.  Beverly  and  Mary  reached  the 
house  they  found  the  quartette  of  young  people 
clustered  about  the  piano. 

"  Shall  we  begin  with  '  Am  See  '?  "  said  Paul. 
"  And,  Mary,  you  are  just  in  time.  You  '11  play 
for  us,  won't  you  ?  Justina  likes  to  sing  stand- 
ing. What  is  it,  mother?  What  can  I  do  for 
you?  " 

"Nothing,  thank  you,  Paul.  I  left  my  wrap 
on  the  evergreen  seat,  that  is  all.  Don't  leave 
your  music.  I  '11  send  Christine." 

But  when  Mrs.  Beverly  came  to  the  door  she 
saw  Christine  strolling  out  to  the  gate  with  the 
other  servants,  and  she  would  not  call  her  back. 
She  went  out  again  herself  to  the  evergreen  seat. 
And  so  it  happened  that  there  soon  came  to 
the  singing  young  people  an  entertainment  which 
was  not  on  the  programme.  In  a  few  moments, 
in  a  pause  of  the  music,  they  heard  Mrs.  Bev- 
erly's merriest  laugh  ringing  along  the  hall,  min- 
gled with  the  deeper  tones  of  a  man's  voice. 

"  Yes,  this  is  quite  too  good  to  be  lost !  You 
must  let  them  see  you  !  Do  you  always  travel 
in  character?  Poachers  must  be  seized,  you 
know.  You  were  on  our  grounds."  These  were 
the  gay  and  laughing  sentences  caught  by  the 
group  in  the  parlor  as  the  steps  came  nearer. 


JUSTINA.  75 

Mrs.  Beverly  advanced  into  the  room  holding 
by  one  extended  and  uplifted  arm  (it  seemed 
to  be  dripping  with  lace  and  trinkets)  the  fin- 
gers of  a  tall,  somewhat  reluctant  figure  of  re- 
markable aspect.  Upon  the  shoulders  and  arms 
of  this  man,  on  the  hat  he  held  in  his  left  hand, 
and  even  on  a  lock  or  two  of  his  iron-gray  hair, 
moths,  midges,  ephemera,  flying  beetles  of  varied 
sizes,  colors,  and  shapes,  had  settled,  or  were 
crawling  peacefully,  or  fluttering  about  like  an 
animated  aureole. 

"  I  have  a  presentation  to  make  to  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Beverly  gayly.  "  I  have  the  honor  of  in- 
troducing to  you  a  naturalist,  —  Mr.  John  Rolfe, 
the  celebrated  naturalist."  . 

The  visitor  bowed  and  joined  in  the  laugh. 
He  looked  less  amused  than  willing  to  be  amus- 
ing, and  stood  patiently  while  the  spectators 
gathered  about  him  laughing  and  commenting. 
"  I  found  him  under  the  lamp,"  said  his  con- 
ductress, "  with  one  victim  undergoing  examina- 
tion, and  unconscious  of  all  the  rest." 

"  I  suppose  it  was  the  light  coat  and  hat  that 
attracted  them,"  said  the  guest,  brushing  a  miller 
from  his  gray  mustache.  "  They  took  me  for 
a  mammoth  blossom.  Now,  Mrs.  Beverly,  if 
you  will  excuse  me,  I  will  come  back  in  a 
moment  and  shake  hands." 

Paul    helped   in    the   dismission    of   the    in- 


76  JUSTINA. 

sects,  and  the  two  men  quickly  re-entered  the 
room. 

"  It  must  be  a  mere  greeting,"  Mr.  Rolfe  said. 
"  I  have  been  at  home  only  a  few  hours,  and  my 
father  does  not  know  I  have  left  the  house." 

He  extended  his  hand  almost  in  silence  to 
each  in  turn.  They  all  knew  him  as  their  neigh- 
bor's son,  and  were  ready  to  do  him  honor  for 
his  own  achievements  in  science ;  but  they  felt 
no  familiarity  with  him.  He  had  made  few 
friends  in  Easterly.  In  fact,  he  had  seldom 
visited  the  place.  During  his  youth  the  family 
had  lived  in  England.  During  his  manhood  he 
had  not  lived  with  his  family.  His  brothers  had 
come  home  with  their  father,  studied  at  Har- 
vard, and  pursued  a  regular  and  proper  course 
of  life  till  business  took  them  permanently  away. 
Easterly  had  the  impression  that  John's  life  had 
been  stormy  and  peculiar. 

Mrs.  Beverly  turned  to  present  him  to  Jus- 
tina :  "  Our  friend  Miss  Wilton,  Mr.  Rolfe." 

But  Justina  thought  she  had  already  caught 
recognition  on  the  bronzed  face.  And  she  —  of 
course  she  recognized  him.  She  remembered 
so  well  his  kindness  and  his  strength.  She  would 
always  keep  a  grateful  thought  of  him.  "  I  met 
Mr.  Rolfe  in  Belgium,"  she  said  with  her  frank 
smile,  extending  her  hand.  "  I  don't  believe  he 
has  forgotten  me." 


JUSTIN  A.  77 

"  No,  I  have  not  forgotten  you,"  answered 
the  new-comer  briefly.  She  fancied  there  was 
a  gleam  of  the  smile  she  remembered,  but  she 
could  not  be  sure. 

"  I  thought  he  might  have  been  a  little  more 
civil,"  said  Mary  Beverly,  recounting  the  scene 
to  her  mother  that  night. 

Easterly  rejoiced  with  Mr.  St.  John  Rolfe  in 
the  return  of  his  son,  and  decided  that  John  had 
really  at  last  come  home  to  stay.  Certainly  it 
was  quite  time.  It  was  not  right  that  Mr.  Rolfe 
should  be  left  alone  at  his  age.  Charles  and  Er- 
nest were  engaged  in  business,  one  in  China,  one 
in  the  Sandwich  Islands.  They  were  married 
and  established.  They  could  not  be  expected 
to  be  with  their  father.  But  John,  without 
domestic  ties,  free  to  roam  the  earth  as  he  had 
always  been,  —  surely  it  was  no  more  than  right 
that  he  should  come  home  at  last.  His  busi- 
ness —  Easterly  had  a  vague,  but  on  the  whole 
an  exalted,  notion  of  John  Rolfe's  calling  —  could 
be  carried  on  in  one  place  as  well  as  in  another. 
It  had  always  been  understood  that  John  was 
to  be  his  father's  companion  and  solace  in  his 
declining  years.  Mrs.  Beverly  Smith  expressed 
her  satisfaction  in  the  event.  And  the  brisk, 
pleasant-spoken  millionnaire,  everybody's  favor- 
ite, was  beset  with  congratulations  when  he 
showed  himself  on  the  street 


78  JUSTINA. 

The  old  gentleman's  own  satisfaction  was  evi- 
dent. "  You  see  my  son  thought  it  time  to  look 
after  his  old  father,"  he  said  to  Justina  on  the 
Thursday  evening,  with  a  glance  of  pride  at  the 
tall  man  shaking  hands  with  her  uncle  across 
the  room. 

Mr.  Rolfe  liked  to  talk  about  his  affairs  to 
women.  He  confidently  expected  their  kindly 
interest,  and  he  certainly  expected  no  more  than 
he  freely  gave  to  them.  "  You  know,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  I  am  such  an  inveterate  business  man 
that  I  have  arranged  all  these  things  long  ago. 
It  would  save  a  deal  of  trouble,  Miss  Wilton,  if 
men  would  arrange  their  affairs  before  they  die. 
My  younger  boys  have  received  the  greater  por- 
tion of  their  inheritance.  They  are  married  and 
gone.  John  is  the  eldest  son,  and  will  have  the 
estate  here,  and  the  charge  of  all  the  Easterly 
interests.  But  being  the  only  free  one  and  such 
a  rover,  he  has  held  a  position  in  the  family 
more  like  that  of  a  younger  son.  Now  I  hope 
he  is  going  to  settle  down  to  his  duties  and 
privileges." 

"  It  will  be  very  pleasant  for  you,  Mr.  Rolfe." 

"  Yes,  it  will  be.  We  have  not  been  much 
together,  especially  since  his  mother's  death." 
Mr.  Rolfe's  steady  dry  voice  always  softened 
and  sometimes  broke  when  he  spoke  of  his  wrife. 
She  was  the  one  being  who  had  stirred  his  soul 


JUSTINA.  79 

to  its  depths.  "  John  is  my  namesake,  you  know, 
—  or  no,  you  would  not  be  likely  to  guess  it,  for 
he  has  dropped  the  prefix.  He  is  no  saint,  he 
says,  and  does  not  care  to  bear  the  epithet  even 
as  a  meaningless  particle." 

Mr.  Rolfe  glanced  again  at  his  son,  Justina 
thought  with  some  awe.  "It  is  like  chaining 
an  eagle  and  a  wren  together,"  she  thought,  and 
she  felt  sorry  for  each  party. 

"  Do  you  get  on  with  him  at  all?  "  asked  Mary 
Beverly  of  Justina,  one  day.  "  Is  n't  he  very 
queer?  Are  n't  you  afraid  of  him  ?  " 

Justina  smiled.    "  He  certainly  is — unusual." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  commented  Mrs.  Beverly 
Smith,  "/am  afraid  of  him.  But  then,  I  never 
had  five  minutes'  conversation  with  him.  No- 
body ever  did.  No  woman." 

"Why  is  that?" 

"  Oh !  I  don't  know.  He  hates  women.  There 
is  some  story,  no  one  seems  to  know  exactly 
what,  —  an  early  disappointment,  or  something 
of  the  sort.  It  is  quite  romantic." 

"  I  mean  to  get  acquainted  with  him,"  an- 
nounced Mary  Beverly.  "  I  mean  to  put  a  bold 
face  on  the  matter  and  ask  him  to  join  our 
Ignorance  Club." 

"  What  is  your '  Ignorance  Club,'  pray,  Mary?  " 

"  Our  new  club,  Aunt  Ray.  We  note  down 
all  the  things  we  don't  know  that  come  up  in 


80  JUSTINA. 

our  reading  or  conversation  and  ask  each  other 
at  the  meetings.  If  nobody  knows,  we  appoint 
some  one  to  find  out  before  the  next  meeting. 
It  is  astonishing  how  many  things  nobody  knows. 
Think  what  an  acquisition  Mr.  Rolfe  would  be  ! 
Think  how  many  questions  he  could  answer ! 
We  must  have  him,  —  nicht  wahr,  'Tina?  Hap- 
py thought !  'Tina,  you  must  ask  him !  He 
is  such  a  friend  of  your  uncle.  You  see  him 
more  than  any  of  us." 

"  No,  Mary,  oh,  no !  It  is  your  club ;  you 
must  ask  him." 

"  Very  well ;  I  certainly  shall,  then." 

Mrs.  Smith  wished  them  success,  and  the 
three  women  separated.  They  had  met  before 
Mrs.  Smith's  house,  where  that  fair  dame  was 
strolling  about  among  her  shrubs,  making  a 
queenly  picture  in  the  warm  Indian-summer 
light.  The  soft  lovely  red  of  the  burning-bush 
shone  hazily  for  a  background.  The  great 
hydrangea-clusters  were  turning  to  delicate 
browns. 

Justina  went  her  way  to  quiet  Spring  Street. 
She  was  conscious  of  a  truer  knowledge  of  this 
man,  of  whom  they  had  been  speaking,  than  Eas- 
terly possessed.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Smith  might  be 
afraid  of  him.  She  had  caught  those  warm  and 
kindly  smiles  which  Mrs.  Smith  had  never  seen. 
Perhaps  he  did  hate  women.  He  could  be  very 


JUSTIN  A.  8 1 

good  to  a  young  girl  in  discomfort  and  danger. 
No  doubt  he  was  "  peculiar;  "  that  word  in  East- 
erly might  mean  anything  on  the  minus  side  of 
conventionalism.  She  was  glad  he  was  come 
home. 


IX. 

ANOTHER  thing  had  happened  during  these 
two  years.  But  to  tell  the  truth,  Justina  did 
not  think  of  it  that  September  morning  when 
she  was  indulging  her  maiden  reminiscences. 
Paul  had  tried  again. 

By  no  means  had  the  buoyant-hearted  fellow 
accepted  that  hasty  verdict  on  the  skating-ground 
as  final.  She  was  surprised  then.  She  was  not 
ready.  She  had  not  thought  about  it  He  loved 
her  all  the  more  for  that  girlish  alarm,  that  sweet 
deprecation.  He  watched  her  carefully  after  that 
day.  He  was  patient,  for  he  was  a  generous  and 
high-minded  man.  He  was  impatient,  for  he 
was  a  strong-willed  man  very  much  in  love. 
His  heart  gave  great  leaps  of  longing  and  hope 
as  he  counted  up  her  smiles  and  thought  upon 
her  friendliness. 

For  a  little  time  after  that  day  she  had  been 
shy.  A  gentle  deprecation  was  still  in  her  mien. 
But  that  had  worn  off,  and  easy  familiarity  took 
its  place,  —  a  demeanor  sadly  deceitful  to  Paul's 
inexperience.  It  was  a  serious  shock  when  for 


JUSTIN  A.  83 

the  second  time  he  saw  that  quick  look  and  ges- 
ture of  pain  at  his  first  warm  words,  and  on  his 
earnest  insistence  heard  her  firm,  low  answer, 
"  I  cannot,  Dr.  Beverly." 

Still  he  would  be  patient,  still  he  would  be 
kind.  "  Justina,"  he  said,  with  his  winning  def- 
erence, "  will  you  be  so  generous  as  to  give  me 
some  reason  ?  Will  you  tell  me  if  there  is  any 
objection  —  if  there  is  anything  I  can  do  that 
might  make  you  care  for  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  the  girl,  opening  her  honest 
eyes  upon  him.  "  Oh,  no  !  What  could  there 
be?  Indeed  I  cannot  tell  you,"  she  went  on,  for 
a  pause  was  dangerous,  —  "I  cannot  tell  you  how 
good  it  is  to  me  to  have  you  for  a  friend.  Please, 
Dr.  Beverly,  let  us  forget  this  now." 

She  reached  out  her  hand  with  a  smile  which 
strove  to  bring  back  the  every-day  conditions. 
But  Paul  was  not  ready  for  that. 

"Will  you  be  so  generous  as  to  tell  me  if 
there  is  anything  of  a  different  nature  between 
us,  —  if  there  is  any  other  attachment?" 

Again  the  honest  eyes  met  his.  "  No,  there 
is  nothing,  Dr.  Beverly." 

His  blue  eyes  kindled.  This  was  good  news. 
His  tone  grew  steadier.  "  What  is  it,  then,  dear? 
Will  you  not  think  about  this  a  little  more  care- 
fully? Will  you  not  search  your  heart?" 

"  I  do  search  my  heart,  but  I  do  not  find  what 


84  JUSTINA. 

you  ask  for.  Oh,  please,  Dr.  Beverly,  let  us 
give  up  the  search  !  There  are  so  much  better 
things  you  might  find  elsewhere." 

She  spoke  with  a  penitent  sweetness.  A  wo- 
man is  never  so  humble  as  when  she  sets  aside  a 
good  man's  love. 

"  Justina,  one  word  more, — will  you  try?" 
At  this  she  stood  silent,  and  presently  looked 
up  at  him,  waiting,  kind,  manly,  patient  beside 
her.  How  good  he  was !  How  well  she  liked 
him  !  All  the  lines  of  accordance  between  them 
became  acute  to  her  perception  at  that  moment. 
Why  should  she  not  enjoy  that  harmony?  It 
was  harmony,  and  for  the  moment  she  did  not 
ask  how  deep  it  went.  If  Paul  had  manifested 
his  impatience  at  that  moment  the  world  might 
have  been  changed  for  him,  for  both  of  them. 
But  he  stood  patient.  And  he  felt  rewarded 
when,  after  another  silent  moment,  the  frank, 
kind  answer  came :  "  Yes,  I  will  try." 

"  Paul  has  told  me,"  said  Mrs.  Beverly,  with 
her  soft  embrace,  the  next  day.  "  Paul  has 
whispered  a  little  secret  to  me;  and  he  says, 
dear,  that  you  have  promised  to  try  and  care 
for  him." 

"  To  try,  you  know,  Mrs.  Beverly." 
"Yes,  I  know,  my  honest  girl;   we  will  not 
misunderstand  you.     Paul  would  not — we  would 
none  of  us  —  urge  you  unduly.     But  I  cannot 


JUSTIN  A.  85 

help  hoping,  dear,  you  will  not  find  it  so  very 
hard !  " 

How  could  it  be  hard  to  care  for  her  Paul? 
It  was  impossible  for  Mrs.  Beverly  to  doubt  the 
result.  "  The  thing  is  as  good  as  settled,"  she 
said  to  Berta. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure,  mamma,"  answered  Berta. 
"  I  wish  it  with  all  my  heart ;  but  I  am  puzzled. 
A  girl  like  Justina,  it  seems  to  me,  would  know 
if  she  loved." 

"  A  girl  like  Justina  would  not  promise  to  try 
if  she  were  sure  she  did  not  love." 

"  That  is  true,  mamma ;  that  is  very  true." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Berta !  I  am  sure  it  will  come  out 
as  we  wish.  It  only  needs  a  little  care.  The 
child  must  not  be  frightened  or  hurried.  And 
we  must  give  them  every  opportunity." 

And  so  the  mother  set  herself  to  manage  this 
delicate  matter  for  her  son.  She  bore  off  Mary 
Beverly  to  see  the  chrysanthemums,  and  by  a 
hundred  unperceived  and  graceful  arts  kept 
the  way  clear  both  of  distractions  and  obstruc- 
tions. "  This  winter  must  settle  it,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "  It  is  really  time  for  me  to  be  thinking 
of  going  to  Mr.  Beverly.  But  I  must  see  this 
matter  settled  first  —  this  and  Berta's  little 
secret." 

As  for  Justina,  she  was  honest,  as  these  women 
who  loved  her  had  said.  She  had  made  her 


86  JUSTINA. 

promise,  and  she  earnestly  meant  to  keep  it. 
She  did  not  always  remember  to  try.  But  when 
she  did  think  of  Paul  at  all,  it  was  almost  always 
with  a  rush  of  warm  and  tender  feeling  toward 
him,  —  that  he  should  care  so  much  and  wait 
so  patiently  for  her  unworthy  ! 

And  -was  the  winter  settling  it?  The  winter 
was  going  much  like  the  usual  Easterly  winter. 
All  the  clubs  were  in  full  career,  and  the  Sunday- 
schools,  the  charities,  the  tea-drinkings,  the  mod- 
est Thursday  evenings.  Easterly  was  remarkable 
in  that  the  rich  and  the  poor  met  together,  and 
nobody  thought  of  any  difference.  Everybody 
knew  that  the  Lowboroughs  dined  at  one  (if  they 
dined  at  all),  and  lived  in  the  plainest  possible 
way.  Yet  everybody  invited  them  just  the 
same.  They  had  governors  to  their  forefathers. 
Everybody  knew  that  the  Rolfes  and  the  Bev- 
erlys  lived  on  the  European  plan  and  had 
dozens  of  servants.  But  nobody  was  too  hum- 
ble or  too  proud  to  accept  their  invitations. 
The  descendants  of  the  ancient  nobility  drove 
through  the  streets  in  the  shabbiest  of  vehicles. 
Easterly  was  so  respectable  that  no  outward 
shabbiness  could  hurt  it.  "  Do  you  suppose 
it  makes  any  difference  what  I  drive  out  in?" 
said  Mrs.  Beverly  Smith  magnificently  when 
some  one  suggested  a  successor  to  her  ancient 
carryall 


JUSTIN  A.  87 

There  had  been  no  dinner-parties  at  the 
Rolfes'  this  winter.  Whether  this  was  owing 
to  the  advent  of  the  peculiar  son,  or  to  the  fact 
that  the  senior  Mr.  Rolfe  had  not  been  very 
strong,  no  one  could  tell.  The  doctor  knew  — 
a  few  friends  knew  —  that  that  little  attack  the 
old  gentleman  had  had  in  November  was  the 
beginning  of  the  end.  He  might  be  well,  brisk, 
happy  for  years  yet.  But  the  flaw  had  been 
made  evident.  The  pitcher  was  broken  at  the 
fountain.  His  step  was  scarcely  less  vigorous ; 
but  he  glanced  oftener  at  the  tall  man  by  his 
side,  and  seemed  to  draw  upon  his  large  stores 
of  strength.  "  My  son  is  my  right  hand,"  he 
would  say.  "  I  don't  know  how  I  lived  so  long 
without  him.  With  all  my  writing,  and  particu- 
larly the  presidency  of  my  two  favorite  societies, 
the  A.  D.  and  the  P.  R.,  which  involves  so  much 
correspondence,  it  is  the  greatest  comfort  to 
have  John  at  home.  He  has  taken  much  of  my 
business  quite  off  my  hands.  I  never  could 
succeed  with  a  private  secretary.  I  have  tried 
it.  But  a  son  is  different  —  a  son  is  different." 

The  two  men  often  entered  the  Spring-street 
parlors  of  a  Thursday  evening ;  but  by  no  means 
invariably.  Sometimes  the  father  yielded  to  the 
son's  verdict:  "Better  stay  at  home  to-night, 
father.  Whist  is  better  than  chatter."  And  the 
strong  man  with  those  brown,  wonderful  fingers 


88  JUSTIN  A. 

would  shuffle  and  deal  the  cards,  which  his  soul 
detested,  till  the  accumulated  nervousness  within 
him  flashed  like  fire  from  his  eyes,  and  he  would 
rush  out  into  the  night  to  quiet  himself  under 
the  stars. 

Clearly  Easterly  was  right.  John  Rolfe  did 
not  like  society.  He  did  not,  however,  as  we 
have  said,  always  refuse  the  hospitalities  of 
Spring  Street.  Indeed,  in  no  house  except  his 
own  had  his  return  produced  so  marked  an 
effect  as  in  Justin  Wilton's.  The  old  man  took 
great  delight  in  intercourse  with  his  former 
student.  Here  was  some  one  to  whom  he  could 
talk  with  some  hope  of  being  apprehended.  He 
was  ready  for  long  sessions  over  the  quiet  tablets 
on  every  evening  of  the  week,  and  even  during 
the  precious  daylight ;  ready  for  long  walks  with 
his  friend,  for  exchanges  of  specimens,  for  end- 
less outpourings  of  theories  of  his  own.  Jus- 
tina  laughed,  Hannah  frowned,  at  the  renewed 
activities  of  the  aged  philosopher.  Mysterious 
messes  were  set  stewing  on  the  range.  Experi- 
mental wires  ran  through  the  passages  and 
tripped  the  unheeding  footstep.  The  alchemist 
in  his  long  brown  gown  among  his  bottles  and 
retorts,  unconscious  of  the  tumults  he  was  cre- 
ating, deaf  to  the  noises,  heedless  of  the  smells, 
—  this  picture  was  now  often  supplemented  by 
the  keen,  weather-browned  face  of  the  younger 


JUSTINA.  89 

man  bending  over  his  microscope  or  writing 
rapidly.  Fidele,  never  far  away,  danced  about 
his  master's  feet,  or,  sitting  on  the  table,  looked 
wisely  over  Rolfe's  shoulder. 

Justina  would  sometimes  catch  the  scene  as 
she  passed  the  open  door,  and  more  than  once 
declared  her  intention  of  sketching  the  group. 
She  would  throw  in  her  smile  or  her  word  upon 
them,  and  go  her  way  to  her  practising,  or  it 
might  be  to  her  pudding.  Sometimes  she  would 
speed  them  on  their  long  walks,  standing  house- 
wifely at  the  door  to  look  after  them  till  they 
turned  the  corner.  Sometimes  there  was  an 
evening  of  delightful  homeliness,  when  the 
Rolfes,  father  and  son,  or  the  son  alone,  would 
join  Mr.  Wilton  and  his  niece  before  the  open 
fire.  Yet  sometimes,  in  the  midst  of  these  even- 
ings, that  visor  of  hardness  and  impenetrability 
would  fall  over  John  Rolfe's  face,  shutting  out 
the  smiles,  or  a  curtness  of  speech  and  stiffness 
of  manner  seized  him,  calling  out  apologetic 
affabilities  from  his  father.  Poor  wren-like  Mr. 
Rolfe !  This  awkward  eaglet  of  his  cost  him  a 
thousand  anxieties. 

So  the  winter  had  been  going.  And  now 
spring  was  coming.  Spring  was  coming  !  The 
two  students  of  Nature,  with  their  fingers  on  the 
earth's  pulse,  knew  it  before  others  guessed. 
And  on  some  of  the  March  days,  while  the  skies 


90  JUSTINA. 

were  still  full  of  cold,  high-sailing  clouds,  and 
the  clear  air  cut  like  a  diamond,  these  men  went 
out  to  meet  her. 

Such  days  had  given  place  to  the  softer  ones 
of  early  April,  when  Justina  went  one  morning 
for  a  distant  charity  visit.  She  walked  home 
over  the  hill,  by  way  of  the  pond.  She  came 
down  the  rocky  footpath,  and  brushed  aside  as 
she  walked  the  low  bushes,  still  stiff  with  the  stiff- 
ness of  winter.  Around  the  edges  of  the  rocks, 
in  clear,  sunny  spaces,  the  friendly,  simple  saxi- 
frage was  in  bloom.  How  good  it  was  to  see  it 
again !  In  a  few  weeks  columbine  would  be 
nodding  in  the  same  spots.  Overhead  a  bird 
or  two  darted,  and  a  small  yellow  butterfly 
passed  the  .walker,  somewhat  unsteady  on  its 
new  wings.  Justina's  young  blood  stirred  in 
sympathy  with  all  this  fresh  life.  Through  the 
whole  air  there  was  sifted  that  faint,  grassy  fra- 
grance, that  smell  of  spring,  which  Thoreau 
says  is  as  mildly  exciting  as  the  fragrance  of  tea 
to  an  old  tea-drinker. 

At  a  turn  in  the  path  the  distance  opened,  — 
a  stretch  of  soft,  misty  field  and  woodland,  and 
the  mountains  beyond ;  first  the  nearer  purplish 
range,  and,  behind  that,  distant  Blue-Cap  rising 
on  the  pale  midday  horizon.  The  pond  was  at 
her  feet,  —  a  sheet  of  soft,  rippled  blue.  It  had 
a  broken  fringe  of  fir-trees  on  one  side,  and  an 


JUSTIN  A.  91 

open  sunny  space  on  the  other.  And  here  on 
this  sunny  slope  an  unexpected  but  not  surpris- 
ing apparition  met  her  eye,  —  the  figures  of  her 
uncle  and  John  Rolfe. 

Mr.  Wilton  had  his  iron  mortar  and  a  ham- 
mer, and  was  engaged  in  washing  out  some  ore, 
chips  of  which  lay  about  him.  Rolfe  wore  high 
india-rubber  boots,  and  had  evidently  not  con- 
fined his  wanderings  to  dry  land.  A  trailing, 
dripping  aquatic  plant  hung  from  his  fingers. 
He  was  standing  with  his  face  to  the  hill,  and 
saw  Justina  at  once  as  she  made  the  turn  in  the' 
path.  He  strode  forward  to  meet  her. 

"  I  thought  of  you,  and  you  came,"  he  said, 
smiling,  "  over  the  hill  from  the  East." 

Mr.  Wilton  looked  up  for  a  word  and  smile, 
and  proceeded  with  his  shaking  and  pounding. 
Rolfe's  heavy  coat  lay  on  the  ground.  He 
spread  it  invitingly  over  a  stone,  and  when 
Justina  was  seated,  threw  himself  at  her  feet. 
Fidele,  bounding  up,  made  a  place  for  himself 
by  her  side.  And  so  they  sat,  familiar  and  at 
home  amid  the  "greatness  and  friendly  splendor" 
of  the  royal  hostess,  Nature. 


X. 


"  I  HAVE  something  curious  to  show  you,"  said 
Rolfe,  extending  a  bit  of  his  trailing  green  weed. 
"  This  is  an  innocent-looking  vegetable,  is  it 
not?  You  would  not  suspect  it  of  a  crime,  a 
crime  against  society?  " 

"  I  certainly  should  not.  But  I  am  prepared 
to  believe  anything.  I  have  made  some  prog- 
ress in  the  philosophy  of  the  unexpected  since 
I  knew  you,  Mr.  Rolfe."  She  threw  him  a 
saucy  smile,  and  brought  out  his  rare  brief 
laugh.  "  Tell  me  about  it,  please." 

"  It  is  an  enemy  of  trade,  a  robber  of  the  mar- 
kets, and  as  such  it  is  beginning  to  have  a 
considerable  commercial  importance.  When  it 
comes  to  devouring  fish,  a  weed  gets  a  new 
status  in  creation,  —  not  a  happy  one  in  this 
case." 

"  Devouring  fish?  " 

"  Yes.  This  little  creature  destroys  thousands 
of  carp-eggs  every  year,  and  sometimes  the  tiny 
newly  hatched  fish.  The  carp-breeders  have 
declared  war  against  the  plant,  and  I  am  hunt- 
ing it  up  for  some  of  them.  I  am  rather  sorry 


JUSTIN  A.  93 

to  tell  tales  of  the  little  thing;  it  is  very  pretty 
in  the  water." 

"  How  does  it  catch  its  prey?  In  these  little 
sacs?" 

"In  these  little  sacs,  yes,  by  an  ingenious 
trap-door.  It  was  thought  until  a  few  years 
ago  that  these  were  merely  floats  holding  it  in 
its  place  in  the  water,  for  it  has  no  root.  Mr. 
Darwin  found  out  their  true  use.  But  even  he 
did  not  discover  the  carp-eating  capacities  of 
the  plant." 

"Does  it  need  the  food  it  gets  in  this  way? 
You  say  it  has  no  root." 

"  Most  equable,  fair-minded  princess  !  If  so, 
is  the  plant  to  be  forgiven?  Miss  Wilton,  you 
were  prophetically  named.  Your  mind  is  emi- 
nently just,  candid.  I  have  noticed  it  often  in 
little  things.  Tell  me:  you  think  a  creature 
has  a  right  to  get  the  aliment  it  can  from  what 
comes  in  its  way,  if — if  it  is  denied  the  usual 
modes  of  living?  You  think  so?  I  am  sure 
you  think  so !  "  He  grew  so  intense,  and  his 
deep  eye  held  hers  so  fast,  that  she  uneasily 
shifted  the  subject. 

"  Mr.  Rolfe,  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question.  I 
read  the  other  day  an  article  on  the  wonderful 
contrivances  of  plants,  —  the  color  and  perfume 
and  conformation  of  flowers.  And  this  article 
quoted  a  statement  made  by  some  theologian 


94  .  JUSTIN  A. 

that  plants  are  intended  to  furnish  food  for  man 
and  to  afford  him  pleasure  by  their  beauty  and 
perfume.  My  writer  condemns  the  theologian's 
view  as  narrow,  and  he  argues  that,  on  the  con- 
trary, all  the  qualities  possessed  by  plants  are 
simply  those  which  are  of  the  greatest  impor- 
tance to  the  plants  themselves.  '  The  colors 
and  perfumes  and  shapes  of  flowers  have  refer- 
ence only  to  this',  he  says.  Now  please  tell  me 
which  of  these  views  is  the  narrower,  and  which 
is  right." 

Rolfe  smiled.  "  You  think  you  have  the  sci- 
entist there !  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think.  I 
think  both  views  are  narrow.  And  why  may 
not  both  be  right  so  far  as  they  go  ?  I  don't 
know  much  about  housekeeping,  but  I  suppose 
a  good  manager  often  contrives  to  effect  more 
than  one  end  by  a  certain  plan.  What  if  the 
law  which  provides  for  the  reproduction  and 
well-being  of  the  plant  itself,  provides  also  for 
the  pleasure  of  intelligent  beings?  To  my  mind 
creation  is  not  all  for  man,  neither  is  it  all  for  the 
other  creatures." 

"  Each  for  all,  all  for  each,"  said  Justina. 
"  Mr.  Rolfe,  do  you  know  '  Little  thinks  in  the 
field'?" 

"  I  believe  I  have  known  something  of  that 
nature.  But — no;  to  be  serious,  I  do  not  know 
what  you  mean." 


JUSTINA.  95 

"  Emerson's  poem, — 

" '  Little  thinks  in  the  field  yon  red-cloaked  clown 
Of  thee  from  the  hilltop  looking  down.'  " 

"  No,  I  do  not  know  it.     Say  it  to  me,  please." 
"  I  am  not  very  good  at  verse-repeating ;  I 
will  see  if  I  can  remember  it :  — 

'  Little  thinks  in  the  field  yon  red-cloaked  clown 
Of  thee  from  the  hilltop  looking  down  ; 
The  heifer  that  lows  in  the  upland  farm, 
Far  heard,  lows  not  thine  ear  to  charm; 
The  sexton  tolling  his  bell  at  noon 
Deems  not  that  the  great  Napoleon 
Stops  his  horse  and  lists  with  delight 
As  his  files  sweep  round  yon  Alpine  height ; 
Nor  knowest  thou  what  argument 
Thy  life  to  thy  neighbor's  creed  hath  lent. 

All  are  needed  by  each  one  ; 
Nothing  is  good  and  fair  alone. 
I  thought  the  sparrow's  note  from  heaven, 
Singing  at  dawn  on  an  alder-bough  : 
I  brought  him  home  in  his  nest  at  even  : 
He  sings  the  song,  but  it  pleases  not  now  ; 
For  I  did  not  bring  home  the  river  and  sky : 
He  sang  to  my  ear,  they  sang  to  my  eye.' 

"There  is  more;  I  cannot  give  it  all.     But 
here  is  the  end :  — 

"'Then,  I  said,  I  covet  truth. 

Beauty  is  unripe  childhood's  cheat ; 

I  leave  it  behind  with  the  games  of  youth. 

As  I  spoke,  beneath  my  feet 


96  JUSTIN  A. 

The  ground-pine  twined  its  pretty  wreath, 
Running  over  the  club-moss  burs  ; 
Round  me  stood  the  oaks  and  firs  ; 
Pine-cones  and  acorns  lay  on  the  ground ; 
Over  me  soared  the  eternal  sky, 
Full  of  light  and  of  deity. 
Again  I  saw,  again  I  heard 
The  rolling  river,  the  morning  bird ; 
Beauty  through  all  my  senses  stole  : 
I  yielded  myself  to  the  perfect  whole.'  " 

When  she  ceased;  Rolfe  was  leaning  back 
against  a  tree-trunk,  and  his  eyes  were  shut. 
He  made  no  comment.  But  after  a  moment 
he  slowly,  almost  solemnly,  repeated  the  last 
lines :  — 

"  Beauty  through  all  my  senses  stole  : 
I  yielded  myself  to  the  perfect  whole." 

"  I  find  a  good  proportion  of  tin  here,  and  a 
trace  of  silver,"  remarked  Mr.  Wilton,  looking 
up  over  his  glasses;  "just  a  trace  of  silver." 

His  companions  made  evident  their  interest, 
and  Rolfe  rose  and  looked  over  his  shoulder  at 
the  contents  of  the  iron  vessel. 

"  On  what  occasion  did  the  great  Napoleon 
stop  his  horse  to  hear  the  bell?  "  he  asked,  com- 
ing back  and  throwing  himself  again  at  Justina's 
feet.  He  looked  into  her  eyes  smiling.  She 
had  never  seen  him  so  light-hearted,  so  nearly 
merry  as  he  was  at  that  moment. 


JUSTIN  A.  97 

"That  will  have  to  be  referred  to  the  Igno- 
rance Club.  You  see  now,  Mr.  Rolfe,  how  much 
you  lost  by  not  joining  us." 

"  Ah !  but  I  am  going  to  join  you,  Miss  Wil- 
ton. I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  join  you.  I 
told  Miss  Beverly,  indeed,  that  when  it  came  to 
the  walking  expeditions,  which  she  said  you 
were  to  take  in  the  spring,  I  should  be  glad  to 
go  with  the  party  sometimes.  I  suppose  those 
will  soon  be  in  order  now." 

"  Very  soon.  We  mean  to  go  up  Blue-Cap 
some  day.  How  nice  it  will  be  if  you  will  go 
with  us !  " 

"  Tin  almost  always  carries  a  little  silver  with 
it,"' pursued  Mr.  Wilton.  "  In  Cornwall  —  when 
I  was  in  Cornwall,  John  —  " 

Rolfe  turned  and  submitted  to  the  information 
with  the  beautiful  deference  he  always  paid  his 
former  instructor. 

"  Bless  the  old  man  !  He  has  the  heart  of  a 
child,"  said  Justina  warmly.  "  Now  I  must  go." 

She  rose  and  touched  her  uncle's  arm.  "  Good- 
by,  uncle  !  Let  me  see  you  before  tea-time." 

"  Are  you  going  to  sing  for  me  to-night?  " 
asked  Rolfe. 

"  If  you  wish  it,  yes." 

"Flower  of  the  Mint?" 

"A  votre  plaisir.    Good-by!"  She  turned  into 
the  pine-wood  and  left  them, 
7 


98  JUSTINA. 

"  Flower  of  the  Mint ! "  It  was  the  simplest 
little  Spanish  ditty,  celebrating  the  beauties  and 
virtues  of  various  garden  flowers,  and  ending 
with  the  lines :  — 

"  Flower  of  the  Mint ! 

Things  come  and  go  as  comes  and  goes  the  wind  ; 
But,  sweet,  with  thee  life  is  a  long  content." 

Justina  sang  it  to  her  mother's  harp.  It  had 
been  one  of  her  earliest  lessons  in  childhood, 
at  her  mother's  side;  and  on  idly  picking  out 
the  melody  one  evening,  while  deciding  on 
something  to  play,  she  was  surprised  to  find  it 
recognized  by  the  Rolfes  as  having  been  sung 
long  ago  to  the  same  instrument  by  Mrs.  Rolfe. 
Since  that  time  she  had  often  been  called  on  for 
the  song  by  father  or  son.  It  was  wonderful 
the  hold  that  woman  in  her  grave  still  had  on 
these  two  men  !  They  seldom  spoke  of  her,  but 
when  they  did,  the  tone  said  everything. 

"  Flower  of  the  Mint !  "  Justina  murmured  the 
strain  as  she  walked  along  the  wood-path. 

"  Things  come  and  go  as  comes  and  goes  the  wind ; 
But,  sweet,  with  thee  life  is  a  long  content." 

On  reaching  the  town  she  turned  toward  the 
Beverlys',  for  she  was  to  be  permitted  a  sight  of 
Berta  and  the  three-weeks-old  baby  to-day. 

"  It  is  the  prettiest  picture  you  ever  saw,"  said 


JUSTIN  A.  99 

Mrs.  Beverly,  leading  the  way  upstairs.  And 
so  it  was,  —  the  fair  young  mother  with  the  pink- 
and-white  blossom  on  her  arm.  Heaven  and 
earth  seemed  to  have  poured  out  of  their  best 
in  that  room,  —  soft  raiment,  costly  appoint- 
ments, flowers,  firelight,  sunlight,  love. 

Justina  took  a  low  seat  by  Berta's  armchair, 
and  for  one  moment  felt  herself  superfluous. 
But  in  Berta's  presence  that  feeling  was  not  long 
possible. 

"  It  is  good  to  see  you  again,  dear,"  said  the 
lovely  mother.  "  How  fresh  and  beaming  you 
are !  " 

"  It  is  such%a  perfect  day." 

"  Yes,  we  are  to  be  allowed  a  drive  out  — 
baby  and  I  —  when  there  is  another  such.  Jus- 
tina, I  want  you  to  be  a  friend  to  my  little  girl, 
will  you, — always?  I  want  you  to  be  her 
godmother." 

Justina  dropped  on  the  rug  at  Berta's  feet 
and  buried  her  face  in  a  sea  of  soft  and  fragrant 
things. 

"  Somebody  is  always  to  be  found  worshipping 
on  that  rug,"  said  Mrs.  Beverly,  coming  in.  She 
laid  a  hand  affectionately  on  Justina's  shoulder. 
"What  are  we  to  call  this  mite,  'Tina?  The 
children  are  talking  about  my  old-fashioned 
name;  but  I  protest." 

"  I  am  sure  I  could  n't  venture  an  opinion  on 


100  JUSTIN  A. 

a  baby's  name,  Mrs.  Beverly.  She  will  be  Berta's 
little  girl  to  me." 

"  Mamma,  if  it  is  to  be  an  Easterly  name  and 
a  Beverly  name,  it  will  have  to  be  old-fashioned." 

"  Let  me  take  her,  Berta.  You  hold  her  too 
much,  dear.  It  is  n't  good  for  the  child.  'Tina, 
just  fancy !  They  are  talking  to  me  about  going 
away.  Is  n't  it  heartless  ?  Really,  it  is  nearly 
time  for  me  to  be  thinking  of  going  to  Mr.  Bev- 
erly. But  how  can  I  leave  this  child?  First  I 
had  to  stay  till  the  darling  came,  and  now  I 
must  stay  and  see  her  through  the  summer. 
Summer  is  a  critical  time  for  little  ones." 

A  look  of  pain  passed  over  Berta's  face.  Her 
first  baby  had  died  before  its  first  summer  was 
completed. 

"  Mr.  Beverly  is  a  patient  husband,"  said  Jus- 
tina,  leading  away  from  the  painful  subject. 

"  So  Berta  says,"  laughed  Mrs.  Beverly.  "  But 
we  are  accustomed  to  separation.  Diplomats 
must  forego  domestic  happiness.  When  the 
boys  were  young,  there  was  their  health  and 
mine  to  be  thought  of.  Then  there  was  their 
education.  A  woman's  first  duties  are  to  her 
children,  you  know." 

"  Aber —  "  thought  Justina ;  "  I  wonder  if  that 
is  altogether  sound.  But  of  course  I  don't 
know." 

"  You  are  going  to  stay  to  luncheon,"  con- 


JUSTINA.  101 

tinued  Mrs.  Beverly  as  the  guest  rose  to  go. 
"  Oh,  yes,  you  are !  The  boys  will  be  here  in  a 
minute." 

"  Not  to-day,  Mrs.  Beverly ;  I  must  go  home. 
I  am  a  housewifely  body,  you  know.  I  must 
set  out  my  cups  and  saucers  for  my  Thursday 
evening." 

"So  it  is  Thursday.  But  —  nonsense,  child, 
the  work  of  five  minutes  !  " 

Justina  ran  downstairs  from  the  kindly  pres- 
sure, from  all  this  sweetness,  warmth,  and  sun- 
shine, through  the  dim,  luxurious  hall,  through 
the  ample  grounds.  All  these  pleasant  things, 
all  this  love  and  tenderness,  and  more  too 
might  be  hers  for  one  little  word !  Why  could 
she  not  take  the  good  provided  for  her?  Ah! 
here  comes  in  that  awful  principle  of  choice,  the 
human  choice,  which  has  laid  waste  more  than 
one  paradise  since  the  first  But  Justina  was  not 
thinking  to-day  about  choice.  "  Flower  of  the 
Mint,"  she  sang  under  her  breath  as  she  went 
down  Spring  Street,  — 

"  Flower  of  the  Mint ! 
Things  come  and  go  as  comes  and  goes  the  wind." 

In  the  evening  Mr.  St.  John  Rolfe  entered  the 
little  parlors  alone.  He  had  a  shrunken,  shorn 
effect  when  detached  from  his  usual  companion, 
and  to-night  he  was  visibly  irritated  and  ill  at 


102  JUSTIN  A. 

ease.  "  My  son  has  been  called  off  suddenly,"  he 
said,  —  "  to  England ;   he  went  this  evening." 

"  Oh,  no !  not  long,  I  hope "  (to  an  inquiry 
from  some  one  as  to  the  length  of  John's  stay)  ; 
"  not  very  long,  he  said.  He  worked  like  a 
machine  all  the  afternoon  at  my  correspondence, 
to  leave  things  in  good  shape.  John  is  a  good 
fellow,  the  best  fellow  in  the  world ;  but  he  is 
sudden,  extremely  sudden." 


XI. 

THE  Ignorance  Club  enjoyed  great  popu- 
larity. All  the  desirable  young  people  be- 
longed to  it,  and  the  weekly  meetings  were 
scenes  of  that  charming,  well-curbed  hilarity 
which  is  characteristic  of  Easterly  circles.  Mrs. 
Beverly  Smith  had  given  the  club  a  tea-party 
during  the  winter,  and  the  Beverlys'  wide  draw- 
ing-rooms were  often  open  to  its  sessions.  A 
question  in  regard  to  some  drama  or  drama- 
tist was  occasionally  answered  by  a  theatrical 
representation.  A  fragment  of  a  Greek  play 
was  once  attempted.  Musical  evenings  were 
frequent. 

The  club  owed  its  popularity  largely  to  its 
founder,  whom  everybody  liked.  Its  name  was 
characteristic  of  Mary's  simplicity  and  direct- 
ness, its  success  of  her  ability.  It  would  do 
very  well  for  Mary  Beverly  to  talk  about  igno- 
rance. Everybody  knew  that  she  was,  in 'fact, 
extremely  well  informed.  Her  friends  were 
never  tired  of  telling  a  certain  little  story  which 
redounded  to  her  honor.  A  distinguished  Eng- 


104  JUSTIN  A. 

lish  historian,  not  many  years  ago,  visited  East- 
erly, and  Mary  was  one -of  those  invited  to  dine 
with  him.  In  the  course  of  conversation  Miss 
Beverly  incidentally  referred  to  the  date  of  some 
event,  and  was  politely  corrected  by  the  histo- 
rian. A  few  days  afterward,  however,  she  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  the  distinguished  man, 
apologizing  for  his  correction,  and  stating  that 
she  was  right;  he  had  found  that  he  himself 
had  been  at  fault. 

When  spring  came,  and  the  club  varied  its 
exercises  by  long  walks  and  mountain-excur- 
sions, the  interest  in  it  became  still  more  general. 
The  Easterly  hills  —  over  which  the  sun  looked 
every  morning  into  Justina's  chamber  —  are  rich 
in  fine  outlooks  and  points  of  interest,  and  East- 
erly is  properly  proud  of  them.  People  stood 
at  their  doors  to  see  the  club  pass  by  in  its 
omnibus  or  on  foot,  and  waved  them  inspiriting 
greetings. 

Dr.  Paul  Beverly  was  heard,  this  spring,  to 
say  some  unhandsome  things  of  his  increasing 
practice,  which  prevented  his  joining  the  walk- 
ing parties  as  often  as  he  wished.  In  spite  of 
this  he  did  often  break  away  and  present  him- 
self in  his  knickerbockers  and  becoming  cap,  or 
perhaps  ride  out  and  intersect  the  homeward 
line  of  march.  He  found  himself  not  seldom  at 
Justina's  side,  happy  in  her  smiles.  But  he  had 


JUSTIN  A. 

grown  wary  in  his  three  years'  experience, 
sadly  wise.  He  always  knew  where  Justina  w.. 
He  had  an  almost  painful  consciousness  of  her' 
dark-blue  figure  moving  among  the  kaleido- 
scopic groups  at  a  picnic.  His  ear  was  almost 
painfully  acute  to  her  words  or  her  laughter,  — 
a  rich,  delicious  accompaniment  to  the  chorus 
of  other  voices.  Yet  often  for  an  entire  after- 
noon he  would  scarcely  speak  to  her.  He  gave 
himself  to  other  groups,  or  oftenest,  perhaps, 
walked  by  the  side  of  Mary  Beverly,  —  his  old 
schoolmate  and  his  cousin,  —  who  kindly  chatted 
on,  apparently  unperceptive  of  his  wandering  at- 
tention. The  lover  studied  his  case  in  these  days 
with  much  of  the  physician's  careful  and  calcu- 
lating scrutiny,  and  instinct,  as  well  as  salutary 
caution,  told  him  that  he  must  still  hold  himself 
in  abeyance.  Never  was  his  mistress  unkind, 
and  never  wittingly  careless.  But  he  began  to 
perceive  what  he  had  long  felt  rather  than  per- 
ceived, —  that  she  was  for  the  most  part  uncon- 
scious of  him.  He  was  not  in  all  her  thoughts. 
"  A  love  which  is  long  overlooked  will  never  be 
reciprocated,"  he  read  one  day  among  Richter's 
maxims,  and  it  made  him  very  unhappy.  He 
had  times  of  fearing  that  his  love  was  over- 
looked ;  then  a  pleasant  word  from  Justina,  or 
her  smile,  would  drive  away  his  fears  and  give 
him  comfort  for  many  a  day. 


JUSTIN  A. 

for  Justina,  she  was  not  studying  herself 
s  summer ;  she  was  taking  things  as  they 
came.  "Things  come  and  go  as  comes  and 
goes  the  wind,"  ran  the  words  of  her  little  song ; 
and  she  was  having  a  very  pleasant  summer. 
There  is  a  time  in  a  woman's  life  when  she  does 
not  examine  her  own  heart  very  rigidly.  This 
was  the  girl  who  had  peered  into  that  gray 
Flemish  distance  in  search  of  what  was  coming; 
it  was  the  girl  who  lay  revolving  her  experiences 
that  anniversary  morning.  She  asked  no  ques- 
tions of  herself  this  summer.  The  light  crept 
over  the  hills  into  her  modest,  simple  chamber ; 
she  looked  at  it  with  unshrinking  eyes,  and  rose 
up  to  the  day  to  take  what  it  might  bring. 

Mr.  John  Rolfe,  according  to  his  father's  ex- 
pectation, returned  after  a  not  unreasonable  ab- 
sence, and  took  his  place  by  that  gentleman's 
side.  Two  or  three  times  during  the  spring  he 
proposed  to  his  father  a  trip  abroad;  but  he 
yielded  the  point  when  he  found  it  must  be 
yielded,  and  accepted  resolutely  rather  than 
gracefully  the  routine  of  Easterly  life,  —  so 
foreign  to  his  tastes  and  habits. 

Justina  saw  less  of  her  uncle's  friend  than 
during  the  winter.  He  occasionally  walked 
with  Mr.  Wilton,  but  rarely  came  to  the  house, 
except  for  an  evening  call  with  his  father.  The 
Thursday-evening  gatherings,  like  all  indoor 


JUS  TINA.  107 

festivities,  were  naturally  at  a  low  ebb  during 
the  summer. 

Mary  Beverly  in  due  time  reminded  the 
naturalist  of  his  promise  to  the  club,  and  he 
now  sometimes  joined  the  party,  especially  upon 
their  more  difficult  expeditions.  The  place  to 
make  acquaintance  with  John  Rolfe  was  under 
the  open  sky.  A  parlor  seemed  to  cramp  him, 
and  those  who  had  not  seem  him  with  Nature 
had  not  seen  him  at  home.  "  I  'm  beginning  to 
forget  to  be  afraid  of  him,"  said  Mary  Beverly 
to  Berta  one  day.  "  Have  you  seen  him  smile? 
It  is  a  grave  face  he  has  ordinarily,  but  it  has  a 
look  as  if  it  might  be,  under  some  remote  and 
next  to  impossible  circumstances,  a  very  tender 
one.  At  all  events,  he  's  a  great  acquisition  to 
the  club." 

On  these  expeditions  Rolfe  usually  walked  on 
the  edge  of  some  loosely  consorted  group,  or 
strode  off  by  himself  over  the  path,  waiting  at 
some  rough  point  for  the  others  to  come  up  and 
be  helped  by  his  strong  arm.  Like  all  reserved 
persons,  he  seemed  to  prefer  fragmentary  con- 
versations. He  was  besieged  with  questions, 
which  he  answered  willingly  when  he  could,  and 
with  ingenuous  confession  of  ignorance  when  he 
could  not.  The  man  of  science  has  learned  how 
to  say,  "  I  don't  know."  Indeed,  it  is  almost  his 
motto.  "A  scientist  not  have  faith?"  retorted 


108  JUSTINA. 

Rolfe  indignantly  when  a  visiting  young  theo- 
logue,  who  was  one  day  of  the  party,  essayed 
to  exalt  his  own  orthodoxy  by  impugning  that 
of  others,  —  "a  scientist  must  have  faith.  There 
is  more  faith  in  his  work  than  in  other  men's 
creeds."  Half  an  hour  later  he  helped  Justina 
over  a  stony  stretch.  "  I  hope  I  am  to  be 
forgiven  for  my  rudeness,"  he  said,  his  smile 
breaking  out  upon  her  like  the  sun  from  a 
thunder-cloud ;  "  but,  indeed,  I  am  a  little  angry 
yet." 

"  You  do  not  look  so,  Mr.  Rolfe.  I  am 
not  afraid  of  you.  But  I  think  I  know  what 
you  mean.  You  men  of  science  are  so  accus- 
tomed to  wonders  that  a  mystery  scarcely  baffles 
you." 

"  That  is  just  it,"  he  said ;  "  that  is  just  it ! 
The  student  of  Nature  traces  out  so  many  won- 
derful ends  from  obscurity  and  mystery  that  he 
has  —  why,  I  think  he  must  have  —  stronger 
than  most  men  within  him  that  principle  which 
the  theologians  call  '  faith.'  He  acts  on  that, 
and  that  gives  him  more  faith ;  and  his  founda- 
tions are  always  growing  stronger." 

"  Ah  !  but,  Mr.  Rolfe,  there  is  such  a  difference 
among  students  of  Nature.  One  man  sees  an 
atom  when  he  looks  through  the  microscope; 
another  man  sees  —  " 

"  Infinity,"  he  said  for  her.     "  Yes ;  and  there 


JUSTIN  A.  109 

is  the  same  difference  among  men  of  theology. 
One  man  sees  a  narrow  scheme  when  he  reads 
the  —  the  message  —  the  various  messages ; 
another  man  reads  —  life." 

"  Mr.  Rolfe,"  said  Mary  Beverly,  coming  up, 
"  won't  you  please  tell  us  how  these  great  ribs 
of  hills  came  here,  and  what  they  are  made  of, 
and  —  oh  !  —  all  about  it?  " 

"  That  is  a  rather  large  demand.  I'm  afraid 
I  am  not  equal  to  it,  Miss  Beverly.  It  is  a  very 
fine  conformation, —  bold  and  noble,  —  is  it  not? 
It  looks  as  if  there  must  have  been  great  activity 
here  at  one  time." 

"  There  must  have  been  a  tremendous  up- 
heaval." 

"Yes;  I  know  very  little  of  geology,  except 
as  it  touches  my  special  studies.  I  believe  it  is 
thought  all  this  happened  some  time  during  the 
Reptilian  age,  when  the  hot  melted  trap  boiled 
up  and  cracked  through  the  sandstone,  and  the 
escaping  steam  produced  some  other  curious 
changes  in  the  rocks." 

"And  when  the  lovely  pterodactyl  whose 
portrait  hangs  in  uncle's  room  met  his  fate?" 
said  Justina. 

"  Perhaps  so.    If  not  then,  it  came  soon  after. 
His  time  was  up ;  he  had  to  go." 
'  "  There   is  something  terrible    to   me,"  said 
Mary,  "  in  this  steady  march  of  natural  law,  — 


1 10  JUSTIN  A, 

crushing  out  whole  races  of  creatures,  never 
swerving  a  hair's  breadth,  but  keeping  straight 
on  to  its  end,  —  pitiless,  cruel." 

"  Oh,  yes !  law  is  cruel,"  answered  Rolfe  with 
a  peculiar  smile.  "  Of  course  it  is  cruel.  It 
hurts  in  particulars,  yet  for  the  universe  in 
general  it  seems  to  be  good.  It  has  crushed 
out  races,  but  it  has  raised  the  standard  of  life. 
It  destroys,  but  its  effects  are,  on  the  whole, 
kindly.  Do  you  remember  Wordsworth  in  his 
'  Ode  to  Duty '  ?  Miss  Wilton  does,  I  think,  for 
I  found  her  copy  open  at  the  place  one  day : 

" '  Thou  dost  preserve  the  stars  from  wrong, 

And  the  most  ancient  heavens  through  thee  are  fresh 
and  strong.' " 

There  was  a  pause  while  the  strong  words  in 
the  strong  voice  echoed  through  each  of  their 
minds. 

"  I  have  learned  to  read  Wordsworth  from 
uncle's  quoting  him  so  constantly,"  said  Justina. 
"  Until  I  began  it,  I  could  not  tell  half  the  time 
what  we  were  talking  about." 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  know  very  little  of 
Wordsworth,"  confessed  Miss  Beverly.  "  There 
is  so  much  to  read.  Mr.  Rolfe,  what  is  one  to 
do?  The  world  is  full  of  books,  and  getting 
fuller  every  day.  One  can't  read  them  all.". 

"  One  need  n't  read  them  all.     Books  are  like 


JUSTIN  A.  Ill 

mountains.  Go  up  the  highest,  and  you  don't 
need  to  climb  all  the  little  peaks." 

"  From  which  we  may  infer  that  you  would 
advise  a  speedy  ascent  of  Blue-Cap." 

"  I  would,  certainly.     Why  not?  " 

It  was  perhaps  in  pursuance  of  this  advice 
that  the  long-planned  expedition  very  soon 
took  place,  —  an  expedition  which  Justina  was 
never  to  forget.  Blue-Cap  is  a  modest  eleva- 
tion compared  with  the  famous  high  places  of 
the  earth.  Its  blueness  at  Easterly  is  owing  to 
horizontal  as  well  as  to  perpendicular  distance. 
Nevertheless,  like  most  eminences,  it  has  some 
rewards  to  offer  the  climber.  The  picture  that 
lay  beneath  it  in  the  summer  haze  that  day  was 
a  picture  fair  enough,  —  bright-blue  streams ; 
bright-green  meadows ;  miles  of  beauty,  of  fe- 
cundity, of  prosperity,  indicated  by  dots  of 
towns,  by  lines  of  railway,  by  ships  spreading 
their  wings  on  the  far-distant  horizon.  The  day 
had  gone  as  such  days  always  go,  its  fatigues 
varied  by  its  gayeties.  They  were  on  their  way 
down  the  precipitous  path  toward  their  wait- 
ing omnibus,  and  Justina  found  herself  by  John 
Rolfe's  side. 

They  were  walking  a  little  in  advance  of  the 
others,  and  turned  aside  into  the  brush  to  get 
one  more  glimpse  of  the  view  through  the  thin 
screen  of  trees.  Justina  was  a  step  or  two  in 


112  JUSTIN  A. 

advance  of  her  companion.  She  went  very  near 
the  edge,  clasped  the  slender  trunk  of  a  young 
birch,  and  leaned  a  little  too  heavily  upon  it. 
The  tree  was  not  securely  rooted.  It  gave  way ; 
and  for  an  instant  the  girl's  form  swayed  forward 
and  her  horrified  eyes»  beheld  the  fatal  rocky 
distance  beneath.  It  was  only  for  an  instant; 
for  Rolfe  was  close  beside  her,  and,  seizing  her 
with  an  iron  grasp,  he  made  a  powerful  and 
dexterous  movement  in  the  other  direction,  re- 
stored the  equipoise,  and  gained  a  footing  on  a 
firmer  spot.  The  little  tree  went  crashing  down 
the  steep,  and  dislodged  stones  and  earth  fol- 
lowed ;  but  Justina  and  Rolfe  stood  safe  under 
the  stronger  tree  he  had  seized. 

Safe,  but  trembling,  —  and  trembling  with  a 
wilder  and  more  tumultuous  excitement  than 
the  mere  peril  had  evoked.  For  what  was  the 
truth  which  this  peril  had  flashed  upon  their 
souls?  What  were  the  words  danger  had  forced 
from  this  quiet  man's  lips?  "  Oh,  my  love,"  he 
had  whispered  with  his  hot  breath  in  her  ear, 
as  he  grasped  her  fast.  "  Oh,  my  love !  if  I  had 
lost  you  !  "  And  now  they  stood  trembling  un- 
der the  tree,  shaken  with  a  sudden  and  mighty 
joy,  and  reading  in  one  another's  eyes  the  con- 
firmation and  counterpart  of  the  spoken  words. 

But  steps  and  voices  were  almost  immediately 
heard,  and  the  rest  of  the  party  came  down  the 


JUSTIN  A.  113 

road  to  the  spot.  Rolfe  seated  Justina  at  the 
foot  of  a  tree,  and  stepped  forward  with  a  face 
of  adamant. 

"  Miss  Wilton  went  too  near  the  edge,"  he 
said ;  "  but  it  is  all  right  now."  He  crashed  off 
into  the  underbrush  in  another  direction,  and 
left  Justina  to  her  fate. 

"  He  need  n't  be  so  cross  about  it,"  said  Mary 
Beverly.  "  What  is  it,  dear?  " 

Justina  explained  as  best  she  could,  and  sub- 
mitted herself  to  cologne-bottles  and  exclama- 
tions. For  one  moment  Rolfe  appeared  again. 

"  Is  your  arm  hurt?  " 

"  No !  " 

"  Lift  it,  please.  Bend  it."  And  satisfied  of 
its  soundness,  he  strode  away,  and  was  seen  no 
more. 

"  It 's  all  right,"  said  Justina  to  her  friends ; 
"I'm  a  little  nervous,  that's  all.  I'd  like  to 
keep  still." 

She  only  wished  to  be  quiet.  She  only  wished 
to  be  free  to  listen  to  that  voice  ringing  in  her 
ears :  "  Oh,  my  love  !  oh,  my  love !  "  Indeed, 
she  heard  only  that.  Whatever  was  said,  what- 
ever was  done,  she  heard  only  those  tones, 
sounding  distinct  above  all  else :  "  Oh,  my  love ! 
oh,  my  love!"  What  did  they  mean?  What 
could  they  bring?  She  did  not  know;  but  she 
could  never  cease  to  hear  them. 
8 


XII. 

JOHN  ROLFE  reached  home  after  the  moun- 
tain excursion  late  in  the  night.  The  house  was 
still,  and  he  went  at  once  to  his  room.  There 
he  sat  down  in  apparent  quiet.  But  it  was  only 
to  renew  the  tumult  which  had  raged  within  him 
while  he  wandered  about  under  the  sky.  Alter- 
nate passion  and  despair  had  possessed  him  for 
hours. 

"  Good  God  !  "  he  cried,  "  and  I  have  thought 
that  I  could  remain  in  this  universe  and  not 
live !  I  have  fancied  that  I  could  crush  out  this 
noblest  instinct  of  my  being !  Fool  that  I  was  ! 
I  must  let  myself  live !  I  must  let  myself  love 
her !  It  is  a  sin  to  trample  under  foot  this  holy 
thing!" 

And  then,  swept  by  another  hot  rush  of  feel- 
ing: "  I  could  bear  it  for  myself;  but  if — can  it 
be  it  was  that  which  I  saw  in  her  eyes?  What 
a  treasure,  what  a  crown  to  throw  away !  And 
I  must  throw  it  away!  But  I  could  bear  it —  I 
could  bear  even  the  losing  of  that"  he  groaned, 
with  a  bitter  bowing  of  his  head  to  fate,  "  if  she 
does  not  suffer.  She  must  not  think  of  me  again. 


JUSTINA.  1 1 5 

She  must  not  suffer.  Out  upon  my  weak  heart 
that  would  not  keep  still  in  that  moment  of 
fear!  She  must  not  guess  further;  she  must 
forget."  He  lifted  his  head,  somewhat  calmed 
by  this  tender  thought  for  her.  "  She  must  mis- 
judge me,  rather.  She  must  think  me  strange, 
wild,  insolent  even.  And  I  ?  —  I  must  go 
away." 

This  was  but  a  part  of  the  man's  struggle  that 
night.  Over  and  over  again  the  same  thoughts, 
and  others  more  bitter  still,  surged  and  beat 
within  his  stern  strong  heart.  When  morning 
came  he  found  himself  somewhat  quieted  by 
resolution,  by  fatigue,  by  that  strange  relief  which 
comes  when  we  feel  that  the  utmost  has  be'en 
borne.  He  lighted  a  candle  in  the  grayness  of 
early  dawn.  He  wrote  on  a  card  these  words : 
"  Forgive,  and  please  forget ! "  and  placed  it 
in  his  wallet.  If  it  seemed  best,  he  would  send 
or  hand  her  this.  He  would  watch  and  be 
ready.  He  would  see  what  he  could  read  in 
her  face  to-morrow.  And  at  the  vision  of  that 
face  in  its  brightness  and  purity  the  strong  man 
could  not  restrain  an  audible  moan.  He  bowed 
his  head,  and  the  storm  swept  over  him  once 
more. 

At  his  father's  early  breakfast  John  Rolfe  ap- 
peared. He  compelled  himself  to  join  in  the 
elder's  morning  chat.  He  sat  calmly  while  the 


Il6  JUSTIN  A. 

mail  was  first  enjoyed,  then  discussed,  and  then 
assorted.  He  chose  his  moment,  assumed  as 
light  an  air  as  was  possible  to  him,  and  sprang 
his  trap.  "  Father,  let  us  go  to  Schwalbach !  " 

Mr.  Rolfe  had  not  time  to  answer  before  his 
son  proceeded,  — 

"It  improved  you  enormously — don't  you 
remember?  —  six  years  ago.  There  is  no  min- 
eral water  in  the  world  to  equal  it,  and  the 
country  is  beautiful  at  this  season.  Kaiser  Wil- 
helm  is  to  be  there  in  July,  and  some  wonderful 
Russian  duchess.  Here  is  the  announcement  in 
my  yesterday's  '  Kolnische  Zeitung.'  Let  us  run 
across  and  spend  a  few  weeks  in  the  happy 
valley."  An  autumn  in  Spain,  a  winter  on  the 
Nile,  were  in  the  schedule.  But  John  thought 
it  wise  to  open  his  propositions  gradually. 

Mr.  Rolfe  recovered  his  breath  and  looked 
with  some  curiosity  at  his  son.  If  he  had  been 
a  man  keen  to  discern  spirits,  he  would  have 
seen  through  this  off-hand  manner  and  these 
cheap  arguments.  As  it  was,  he  felt  a  vague 
suspicion  and  a  little  amusement. 

"  You  are  serious,  John?" 

"  Certainly,  father,  I  am  serious." 

The  arguments,  if  cheap,  were  certainly  well 
chosen.  The  German  emperor  and  the  Russian 
duchess  were  not  without  their  effect.  Stronger 
than  all,  however,  was  the  invalid's  ever-spring- 


JUSTIN  A.  II/ 

ing  hope  that  change  of  air  and  change  of 
methods  might  bring  back  the  lost  treasure. 
These  things  were  on  John's  side.  At  the  same 
time  Mr.  Rolfe  was  not  the  man  to  decide  a 
practical  question  hastily. 

"  My  son,  we  are  very  comfortable  at  home," 
pronounced  the  old  gentleman  with  a  look  about 
the  richly  appointed  breakfast-room. 

"  We  can  be  very  comfortable  anywhere.  Do 
you  remember  the  pretty  lodgings  where  I 
called  on  you  six  years  ago?  You  would  take 
Scott,  of  course,  and  your  secretary,  —  your  hum- 
ble servant." 

"  There  is  the  correspondence  of  the  societies, 
John.  The  P.  R.  might  be  managed ;  but  the 
A.  D., —  no,  John,  I  think  it  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. I  should  have  left  home  oftener  of  late 
years  but  for  this.  A  man  —  " 

John  Rolfe  rose  and  made  a  dash  at  the  fire. 
He  tore  sharply  across  a  letter  he  held  in  his 
hand  and  crunched  it  into  the  embers.  It  was 
a  warm  June  morning,  but  he  stirred  up  a  fierce 
blaze.  If  he  uttered  a  malediction  on  the  A.  D. 
society,  his  father  did  not  know  it.  He  turned 
squarely  about 'and  faced  the  old  gentleman. 
Heavens !  What  a  man  to  be  a  son  of  his, 
—  this  tall,  powerful,  brown-visaged,  aggres- 
sive identity !  But  those  deep-gray  eyes  were 
Rachel's. 


Il8  JUSTIN  A. 

"  Father,"  said  Rolfe,  "  I  think  I  can  find  some 
one  to  attend  to  the  correspondence  of  that  so- 
ciety. I  will  go  to  Boston  this  morning  and  get 
some  one."  His  voice  shook  a  little.  How 
should  his  father  guess  that  he  spoke  with  the 
forced  gentleness  of  passion? 

"  I  will  arrange  about  the  passage  too,"  he 
continued,  more  naturally.  "  The  captain,  no 
doubt,  will  be  glad  to  give  you  his  deck-room. 
The  '  Illyria '  sails  to-morrow,  you  know." 

"  To-morrow  !  "  gasped  Mr.  Rolfe.  "  But  that 
is  out  of  the  question,  John."  He  had  been 
touched  by  that  thought  of  Rachel,  and  his  in- 
clination had  been  bringing  itself  to  coincide 
with  his  son's  wish.  But  to-morrow !  —  this  was 
not  to  be  thought  of. 

"  Oh,  no,  sir !  I  think  it 's  not  out  of  the 
question.  You  would  not  cross  comfortably, 
you  know,  except  in  your  old  quarters  on  the  '  Il- 
lyria.' Scott  and  I  will  attend  to  the  packing, — 
under  your  direction,  of  course." 

"  There  are  calls  to  be  made ;  I  could  not 
leave  town  without  making  some  calls,"  said  the 
father,  feeling  the  ground  slipping  from  beneath 
his  feet. 

"  That  can  be  done.  I  should  like  to  pay 
some  of  the  visits  with  you  this  afternoon,  sir." 

As  a  matter  of  course,  the  son  had  his  way. 
"  I  am  in  your  hands,"  laughed  Mr.  Rolfe  at  last. 


JUSTIN  A.  1 19 

"  I  see  you  never  will  be  happy  till  you  get  me 
off.  It  is  your  affair.  Do  with  me  what  you 
will." 

"  This  is  very  good  of  you,  father,"  said  John 
to  him  the  next  day,  after  Mr.  Rolfe  was  com- 
fortably settled  in  the  captain's  deck-room,  and 
the  "  Illyria "  was  steaming  down  the  harbor. 
"  I  want  to  thank  you,  sir." 

He  had  been  afraid  to  make  his  acknowledg- 
ment before,  lest  it  should  bring  a  reversal  of 
the  decision.  He  made  it  now  in  his  manly, 
strong  way,  and  the  two  men  looked  into  one 
another's  eyes.  Different  in  temperament  and 
habits  as  two  men  could  well  be,  the  ties  of 
right  feeling  and  honor  were  strong  between 
them. 

"  Don't  mention  it,  my  son,"  answered  the 
elder  with  his  generous  grace,  "  don't  mention  it. 
I  am  going  to  have  a  capital  time." 

They  had  called  at  Mr.  Wilton's  together  the 
previous  evening.  The  philosopher  appeared 
mildly  surprised  by  the  announcement  of  their 
departure,  but  he  descanted  as  usual  on  his  fa- 
vorite themes,  and  when  they  left,  bade  them 
good-night  as  if  he  expected  to  see  them  in  the 
morning.  Miss  Wilton  was  not  at  home.  She 
had  gone  with  Mrs.  Beverly  for  a  day  or  two  of 
lectures  at  the  summer  school.  In  this  absence 
of  Justina,  Rolfe  suffered  one  pang  the  more. 


120  JUSTIN  A. 

But  he  bore  it  with  determined  strength,  as  he 
bore  the  necessity  of  going  away.  He  decided 
not  to  send  or  leave  the  note.  It  would  be  as 
well  to  leave  things  as  they  were.  This  was 
only  a  plea  for  himself,  and  he,  he  told  himself 
sternly,  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  For  her  it 
would  probably  be  better  if  she  should  think  ill 
of  him.  Let  the  worst  come.  Nevertheless,  he 
kept  the  card  in  his  wallet.  It  was  there  for 
years.  And  in  every  thought  of  her  the  pathetic 
appeal  seemed  to  go  before :  "  Forgive,  and 
please  forget !  "  Sometimes  at  night  he  would 
wake  with  the  words  on  his  lips,  and  before  his 
eyes  the  vision  of  her  face  looking  up  into  his, 
in  which  he  read  forgiveness  and  —  that  which 
he  must  not  read. 

And  Justina?  There  comes  sometimes  in  the 
life  of  a  woman  a  period  of  suspended  anima- 
tion, a  time  when  thought  must  not  stir,  nor 
fancy  move,  nor  emotion  breathe  one  breath. 
A  secret  chamber  in  her  heart  has  suddenly 
made  itself  known  to  her,  and  in  it  there  lies 
treasure.  It  is  not  for  her  to  turn  the  lock  and 
enter.  Another  hand  holds  the  key,  and  that 
hand  must  open  the  door.  In  such  a  state  as 
this  Justina  lived  the  two  or  three  days  after  that 
mountain  excursion.  She  could  not  help  hear- 
ing that  voice  and  those  words  ringing  in  her 
ears.  But  beyond  that  she  would  not  hear  or 


JUSTIN  A.  121 

see  or  think.  She  ran  about  the  house  and 
chatted  with  Hannah.  She  visited  her  poor  peo- 
ple. She  fulfilled  a  long-standing  engagement 
and  went  with  the  Beverlys  to  the  summer 
school  of  philosophy.  This  was  not  pleasing  to 
her  just  now ;  but  it  could  not  be  escaped  with- 
out drawing  attention  —  her  own  attention  and 
that  of  others  —  to  herself. 

Justina  reached  home  on  a  Thursday  evening. 
It  was  not  till  Saturday  morning  that  her  uncle 
mentioned  the  departure  of  the  Rolfes.  The 
girl  lifted  the  morning  paper  nearer  her  face  a 
moment  before  she  replied.  Two  feelings  rose 
uppermost  in  her  mind.  She  was  glad  it  was 
her  unobservant  uncle  who  made  the  announce- 
ment She  was  glad  breakfast  was  nearly  over. 
She  went  upstairs  after  breakfast,  gathered 
about  her  a  quantity  of  neglected,  half-worn  gar- 
ments, and  decided  on  a  day  of  sewing.  It  was 
quite  time  these  things  were  attended  to.  Those 
Millers  were  in  a  state  of  wretched  destitution, 
and  there  were  other  applicants  for  her  favors. 
She  would  give  them  a  good  long  day.  A  rainy 
day  is  a  capital  time  for  sewing,  and  this  will 
develop  into  a  rainy  day,  yes,  —  will  it  not? 
She  looked  out  at  the  fine  soft  mist  sifting  down 
between  her  and  the  elm-trees.  She  came  to 
the  window  and  looked  off  beyond.  Wonderful 
minglings  of  mist  and  sunshine  were  passing 


122  JUSTIN  A. 

over  the  near  green  hills,  bringing  out  fantastic 
lights  and  phantom  shapes.  But  —  yes  —  the 
mist  [was  settling  heavier  in  the  valleys.  The 
clouds  were  gaining.  It  was  going  to  be  a 
rainy  day.  And  she  would  have  a  capital  time 
to  sew. 

At  the  close  of  that  day  of  sewing,  Justina 
knew  herself  more  intimately  than  at  its  begin- 
ning. She  was  forced  at  last  to  ask  herself  rude 
questions.  She  was  forced  to  answer  them. 
That  secret  chamber  in  her  heart  had  been  ruth- 
lessly torn  open.  She  must  enter  it  now.  And 
she  must  enter  it  alone. 

She  acknowledged  to  herself  at  the  end  of  that 
day  that  she  had  received  a  hurt,  —  a  hurt  such 
as  she  had  never  known  before.  She  struggled 
against  an  analysis  of  the  pain.  But  pain  it  was, 
hot  and  keen,  and  it  would  not  be  ignored.  At 
moments  she  recognized  that  what  hurt  her 
most  sorely  of  all  was  the  necessity  of  thinking 
unkindly,  of  thinking  doubtfully,  of  this  man. 
Her  whole  thought  of  him,  she  now  knew,  was 
underlaid  by  a  large  and  solid  trust  Little  had 
she  guessed,  scarcely  did  she  guess  yet,  all  that 
this  trust  involved  and  indicated?  But  she  now 
knew  it  was  there.  Those  little  brusqueries  in 
his  manner  of  which  others  complained,  how  she 
had  always  inly  smiled  at  them,  and  believed  in 
him  nevertheless  with  all  her  heart.  They  had 


JUSTIN  A.  123 

no  sting  for  her.  She  had  seen  these  things,  but 
she  had  never  felt  them.  Now  and  then  there 
had  been  a  prick  of  pain  at  his  silence  when  with 
her,  or  his  evident  avoidance  of  her.  But  it  was 
impossible  for  her  to  keep  a  thought  in  her  heart 
against  him.  She  had  always  forgotten  the  prick 
the  moment  she  saw  him  again.  He  had  never 
hurt  her ;  never  till  now. 

And  now?  Now,  at  moments,  there  rose  hot 
within  her  the  remembrance  of  those  words  of 
his  and  of  his  look.  An  angry  sense  of  injury 
swept  through  her,  dyeing  her  cheek  scarlet 
and  rankling  deep  in  her  heart.  She  lifted  her 
head  queenly  and  proud,  and  her  eyes  blazed 
with  deep  intense  flame.  At  other  moments  her 
face  glowed,  but  not  with  anger.  A  tender  rosi- 
ness  suffused  it.  And  her  eyes  shone,  —  with 
triumph,  but  not  with  indignation.  Nothing 
could  keep  that  light  out  of  her  face,  that  exul- 
tation out  of  her  heart.  For  whatever  the  hurt, 
whatever  the  anger,  whatever  his  fault,  whatever 
his  carelessness  of  her,  the  fact  remained.  He 
had  said  it,  he  had  said  it :  "  Oh,  my  love !  " 

Such  were  her  alternations  of  feeling  during 
that  long  rainy  day.  Such  they  were  still  when 
it  came  to  an  end  and  she  stood  at  the  window 
and  saw  the  dull  light  dissolve  in  darkness. 
Such  they  would  still  be  for  many  a  day  to 
come.  And  with  this  tumult  in  heart  and  brain 


124  JUSTIN  A. 

she  must  go  out  to-morrow  and  face  her  little 
world.  The  magnificent  stuff  a  girl  is  made  of! 
She  smiles  and  hides  her  hurt.  The  greatest  of 
things  comes  to  her,  that  which  revolutionizes 
her  life  for  this  world  and  affects  it  for  all  worlds. 
And  neither  flush  of  cheek  nor  flash  of  eye  nor 
intonation  of  voice  tells  of  the  secret — sweet 
but  heavy  —  that  lies  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart ! 
Justina  took  up  her  burden  silently  and  went 
her  way.  She  was  a  girl  no  longer,  peering  in- 
to the  distance  with  eyes  that  challenged  fate. 
Womanhood  had  opened  upon  her,  and  what 
had  it  brought  her?  Neither  the  dull  blank 
waste  of  uneventfulness,  nor  the  happy  certainty 
that  comes  to  many  at  her  age.  Instead  of  either, 
doubt  strange  and  cruel,  wild  alternations  of 
anger  and  forgiveness,  of  wounded  feeling  and 
utter  faith. 


XIII. 

IF  the  weeks  and  months  that  followed  were 
somewhat  colorless  to  Miss  Wilton,  certainly 
there  was  little  evidence  of  the  fact.  This  win- 
ter was  marked  in  Easterly  by  more  clubs,  more 
charities,  more  tea-drinkings  than  ever.  And 
Justina  was  in  every  one  of  them.  It  was  marked 
for  herself  personally  by  more  serious  work  in 
her  music  than  she  had  given  to  it  for  some  time, 
and  by  some  special  study  in  Italian.  She  gave 
herself  to  solid  work.  She  looked  neither  for- 
ward nor  backward.  Forward  she  could  not  see ; 
backward  she  would  not  look.  She  seemed  to 
herself  to  have  come  to  a  rather  dull  chapter  in 
her  story.  She  did  not  altogether  wish  to  skip 
it,  nor  could  she  skip  it  if  she  would.  She  made 
up  her  mind  to  go  steadily  through  it,  and  be  as 
much  interested  as  possible. 

Mr.  Wilton's  failing  strength  furnished  his 
niece  with  one  healthful  occupation  of  mind. 
The  old  man  did  not  change.  He  melted,  rather. 
He  became  shadowy.  His  characteristics  were 
the  same  to  the  end.  He  was  himself  so  long 


126  JUSTIN  A. 

as  one  could  see  him.  But  he  was  vanishing. 
Justina's  womanliness  grew  strong  to  meet  this 
condition.  As  his  star  slowly  set,  hers  rose  and 
shed  a  quiet,  steady  light  in  the  little  home. 

It  was  during  this  dull  winter  that  the  sequel 
of  Katy's  little  romance  came  to  Justina's  knowl- 
edge and  occupied  her  thoughts  and  anxieties 
for  some  weeks. 

"  Katy  is  here,  miss,"  announced  Hannah  one 
morning.  "Would  you  be  pleased  to  see  her? 
She's  looking  for  a  place  for  a  few  weeks,  and 
she  says  perhaps  you  would  kindly  say  a  word 
for  her." 

"  Looking  for  a  place?  Yes,  Hannah,  of 
course  I  will  see  her.  Let  her  come  in  to  me 
right  here  by  the  fire." 

"  I  find  her  looking  reel  poorly,"  said  Hannah, 
with  the  tact  of  her  class,  introducing  the  visitor. 
"  She  's  right  pale,  I  tell  her,  for  all  her  ribbons 
and  her  smiles." 

"A  little  tired,  may  be,  from  the  journey," 
said  Justina  pleasantly.  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you, 
Katy." 

Katy  had  lost  certainly  in  her  pretty  looks, 
but  the  graceful  air  of  confidence  still  sat  lightly 
upon  her.  "  Yes,  I  thought  I  would  like  a  nice 
easy  place  for  a  while,"  she  explained,  after  the 
proper  commonplaces.  "  It  would  be  a  pleasant 
change." 


JUSTINA.  127 

"  But  you  are  married,  Katy.  Surely  your 
husband  is  living.  Where  is  he?" 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  was  married,"  answered  Katy, 
smiling  lightly.  "  And  I'll  always  remember 
what  a  lovely  wedding  you  gave  me,  Miss  Wil- 
ton. It  was  ever  so  good  of  you." 

"Well?"  persisted  Justina. 

"  Oh  !  — why,  yes,  I  was  married.  But  I  ain't 
livin'  with  him  now." 

Justina  was  partly  baffled,  partly  amused.  "The 
literalness  of  these  people  !  "  she  thought.  "  No, 
of  course,  not  just  now,"  she  said;  and  after  a 
moment's  reflection :  "  Now,  Katy,  if  you  can  be 
spared  from  home  you  might  stay  and  make 
Hannah  a  visit.  I  should  like  to  have  you,  and 
it  would  be  a  pleasant  change  and  rest  for  you ; 
better  —  wouldn't  it? — than  trying  to  get  a 
place.  And  then  you  will  go  back  feeling 
brighter  and  stronger." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  go  back  any  more,  — 
not  to  him,"  said  the  girl,  blushing  now.  "  I  went 
to  see  a  lawyer  yesterday,  and  he  said  he  could 
get  me  a  bill." 

"A  what,  Katy?  A  bill  of  divorce,  do  you 
mean?  Why,  my  poor  girl,  what  is  the 
matter?" 

Katy  continued  to  blush  and  began  to  pout, 
but  was  silent. 

"  You   must  let  me  question  you,"  said  Jus- 


128  JUSTIN  A. 

tina  seriously.  "  I  am  sure  you  will,  for  you 
know  how  much  interest  I  take  in  you.  Have 
you  been  unhappy?  Has  your  husband  been 
unkind  to  you?" 

"No,  miss,"  said  Katy;  "I  can't  say  Tom 
was  really  unkind.  We  had  words,  of  course ; 
everybody  does.  But  Tom 's  clever  enough 
when  he  wants  to  be." 

"What  is  it,  then?  Is  he  a  bad  man?  Does 
he  drink  ?  Does  n't  he  support  you  ?  " 

"  Oh !  Miss  Wilton,"  answered  the  girl,  evi- 
dently getting  out  of  patience,  and  disliking  this 
examination,  "  Tom 's  good  enough,  if  that 's  all, 
and  steady  enough;  but  I  got  sick  of  being 
married.  Nobody  wants  to  be  tied  to  one  man 
all  the  time,  and  tied  to  the  house,  and  tied  to  — 
It  got  awful  dull  sometimes." 

"  But,  Katy,"  urged  Justina,  now  thoroughly 
roused,  "  then  nobody  ought  to  want  to  be  mar- 
ried. Don't  you  remember  what  you  promised 
that  day,  —  what  you  solemnly  promised?" 

"  Well,  I  did  n't  think  then.  I  'd  rather  have 
my  freedom  now.  And  begging  your  pardon, 
Miss  Wilton,  I  really  don't  think  you  know 
how  it  is." 

"  I  suppose  I  do  not,"  admitted  Justina  slowly. 
The  girl  was  right  there.  Who  was  she  to  judge 
in  such  a  case?  "  But  it  seems  to  me  I  do  know," 
she  added  Seriously,  "that  right  is  right,  that  a 


JUSTINA.  129 

promise  is  a  promise,  and  ought  to  be  kept. 
Katy,  take  off  your  hat,  and  stay  with  Hannah 
to-day  at  least,  and  I  will  see  you  again  before 
you  go." 

She  went  back  to  her  music.  But  this  discord 
in  life  crept  into  her  thoughts  and  spoiled  the 
hour  of  practice.  She  was  vexed  that  it  did  so. 
These  things  were  happening  every  day.  The 
newspapers  were  full  of  them,  —  so  full  that  she 
despised  the  newspapers.  This  was  the  kind 
of  thing  quixotic  Mr.  Rolfe  was  running  a  tilt 
against.  But  for  herself — a  young  girl!  It 
was  absurd,  as  Katy  had  intimated,  for  her  to 
have  an  opinion  on  such  a  matter.  She  would 
forget  all  about  it.  Nevertheless,  her  sense  of 
right  was  hurt,  and  now  and  then  it  would  give 
a  twinge. 

"  I  know  what  I  will  do,"  she  thought  at  last, 
"  I  '11  walk  up  the  hill  this  afternoon  and  tell 
Berta  about  it.  She  's  a  fairy.  She  will  know 
whether  anything  can  be  done,  and  what  to  do." 
Up  the  hill,  therefore,  she  went,  in  the  crisp, 
creaking  snow  and  the  tingling  air,  this  grave- 
eyed  woman  of  twenty-four,  bent  on  solving  a 
frivolous  woman's  problem.  Is  all  the  world's 
best  work  vicarious?  Sometimes  it  would  seem 
so. 

As  the  result  of  the  conference  over  the  baby's 
cradle  that  afternoon,  Hannah  and  Katy  the  next 
9 


130  JUSTIN  A. 

day  paid  a  visit  to  the  nursery.  The  large,  broad- 
windowed  room,  unincumbered  with  furniture, 
brightened  by  a  wood-fire  and  all  its  glittering 
appendages,  was  at  its  best  in  the  fading  light  of 
a  winter  afternoon.  The  young  mother  sat  in  a 
low  rocking-chair  with  her  baby  on  her  knee, 
lighted  up  by  the  rollicking  fire,  and  finely  out- 
lined against  the  gray  light  from  the  window. 
It  was  a  picture  which  would  strike  any  visitor, 
lofty  or  lowly.  It  touched  so  many  of  the  hu- 
man instincts,  those  of  the  sense  and  those  of  the 
soul.  A  rich  costume,  soon  to  be  assumed  for  a 
dinner-party,  lay  with  its  appropriate  laces  on 
the  low  bed.  "  I  'm  giving  myself  a  little  treat 
with  the  baby  before  I  go  out,"  Mrs.  Berta  said 
to  her  guests.  "  Mary,  will  you  please  take  the 
dress  to  my  room  and  sew  in  the  lace  there  ?  " 
And  so  the  door  was  shut  on  this  oddly  as- 
sorted trio,  —  the  plain,  substantial  Hannah,  the 
highly  dressed  Katy,  and  the  lovely  lady  mother. 

"  I  am  glad  you  came  to  see  me,  Katy,"  began 
Berta  at  once.  "  Miss  Wilton  told  me  something 
about  you,  and  I  was  so  sorry  to  hear  it.  I  had 
hoped  you  were  very  happily  married.  I  re- 
member how  pleased  we  all  were  with  your 
pretty  wedding,  and  you  had  so  many  good 
wishes.  Would  you  mind  telling  me  why  you 
are  thinking  of  leaving  your  husband?" 

Katy  was  embarrassed   for  once;    there  was 


JUSTIN  A.  131 

so  little  to  tell  when  it  was  brought  down  to  the 
point  in  this  direct  way,  when  it  lay  under  the 
pure  light  of  all  this  kindness,  too.  The  reasons 
looked  so  thin,  so  confused,  so  vanishing.  She 
could  not  put  her  finger  on  one  —  on  one  that 
she  could  so  much  as  name  in  this  presence. 
She  stammered  some  feeble  fragments  about 
awful  dulness,  about  words. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  almost  any  two  people  have 
some  trouble  in  getting  accustomed  to  one  an- 
other in  every-day  life,"  answered  Berta.  "  I 
suppose  there  are  often  some  hard  words.  And 
I  suppose  life  in  a  little  house  in  a  strange  town 
seemed  quiet  and  dull  after  living  here  where 
you  have  so  many  acquaintances.  But,  Katy, 
if  you  loved  your  husband  !  And  you  remember 
you  promised.  Have  you  forgotten  those  sol- 
emn words,  in  the  presence  of  God  and  before 
all  those  witnesses :  '  For  richer,  for  poorer,  in 
sickness  and  in  health '  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  did  take  care  of  him  in  sickness  and 
in  health  while  I  lived  with  him.  He  had  a 
horrid  carbuncle,  'n  he  was  dreadful  cross." 

"  Yes.  Such  times  will  come  in  everybody's 
life.  But  you  know  you  promised  '  for  better 
and  for  worse.' " 

"  I  'm  sure  that  was  for  worse." 

"  And,  Katy,  you  promised  all  this  '  till  death 
do  us  part.'  What  did  that  mean?  Did  you 


132  JUSTIN  A. 

not  know  what  that  meant  when  you  promised 
it,  Katy?  Those  are  very  plain  words." 

"  Well,  I  did  n't  think.  And  nobody  means 
that,  Mrs.  Beverly.  Everybody's  getting  bills. 
I  know  lots  of  women  that  have  got  'em,  and 
men  too.  There  was  Jane  Sullivan.  She  had 
a  baby.  But  she  got  tired  of  being  married. 
He  was  real  cross  to  her,  and  he  went  with  other 
girls  too.  She  got  the  ladies  of  the  Orphans' 
Refuge  to  take  the  baby,  and  she  got  a  bill,  and 
she's  livin'  out  now." 

Berta  made  a  mental  note  of  this.  She  had 
just  become  a  member  of  the  Board  of  the  Eas- 
terly Home  for  Little  Wanderers.  She  would 
keep  her  eyes  open  for  similar  cases  there.  In 
a  few  quiet,  tender  words  she  tried  to  set  before 
Katy  the  bright  side  of  married  life, — the  confi- 
dence and  protection  and  growing  love.  "  You 
thought  a  great  deal  of  your  husband  before  you 
married  him,  Katy,  and  were  very  proud  of  him. 
Try  to  remember  now  all  his  good  points.  You 
have  told  me  some  very  good  things  about  him 
to-day.  You  say  he  is  sober,  you  say  he  is  gen- 
erous, and  that  he  was  kind  to  you  when  you 
were  ill.  Those  are  good  things." 

"Well,  yes,"  admitted  Katy,  "he  was  real 
clever.  But  then  —  well,  he  was  pleased  be- 
cause he  thought  — "  She  dropped  her  eyes 
and  was  silent. 


JUSTIN  A.  133 

Hannah  took  up  the  tale.  "  She  says  she 
was  afraid  she  was  going  to  have  a  baby,  and 
she  did  not  want  one,  it  would  tie  her  down  so. 
Well,  I  don  t  much  wonder,  Mrs.  Beverly,  saving 
your  presence.  She  's  only  a  young  thing,  you 
know." 

Berta  was  too  grieved,  too  shocked,  too  in- 
dignant to  answer.  She  drew  her  own  child 
closer  to  her.  It  had  now  fallen  lightly  asleep, 
and  the  mother's  eyes  shed  down  sweet  influ- 
ences upon  it.  After  a  time  she  said  solemnly, 
patiently :  "  Katy,  I  believe  there  is  nothing  God 
gives  to  a  woman  that  is  so  good  a  gift  as  a 
little  baby,  —  no,  not  even  a  good  man's  love, 
though  that  is  a  great  gift.  See  how  happy  I 
am  with  my  baby,  Katy  !  Don't  you  suppose  she 
has  given  me  already  a  great  deal  more  than  I 
ever  gave  up  for  her?  Do  you  suppose  I  am 
sorry  for  any  of  the  pain  and  trouble  she  has 
brought?" 

"  Well,  ma'am,"  said  Hannah,  growing  bitter,  — 
the  evidences  of  wealth  and  happiness  were  too 
much  for  the  ungoverned  tempers  of  these  two 
women,  with  their  generations  of  prejudice  and 
ignorance  behind  them,  with  that  strong  instinct 
of  comparison  which  seems  to  belong  to  the 
lower  condition,  —  "well,  ma'am,  it's  not  only 
among  poor  folks,  ma'am,  that  these  things 
'appens.  There  do  be  stories.  There  do  be 


134  JUSTIN  A. 

things,  as  you  must  know  of  yourself,  ma'am. 
There 's  ladies  as  lives  'arf  the  year  and  more 
away  from  their  husbands;  yes,  year  in  and 
year  out,  and  drives  their  'usbands  to  what 
is  n't  right.  Mrs.  Berta,  I  think  a  deal  of  you, 
ma'am,  and  I  would  n't  say  a  word  as  was  disre- 
spectful to  you.  But  there  do  be  things  I  have 
heard  —  there  do  be  stories." 

Hannah  was  silent.  She  had  said  it  —  all  she 
dared  to  say.  And  oppressive  stillness  filled 
the  dusk  of  the  room. 

As  for  Berta,  she  was  dumb,  first  from  anger, 
then  from  slow-gathering  and  dreadful  ques- 
tions, which  were  swept  away  in  their  turn  by 
another  wave  of  anger.  She  was  too  excited  to 
answer  this  woman.  She  could  not  bring  her- 
self to  speak,  and  Hannah  and  Katy  were  trem- 
bling guiltily,  and  would  not  have  spoken  for 
the  world.  Berta  rose  and  carefully  laid  her 
sleeping  baby  in  its  bassinette,  softly  folding 
over  its  pink  and  white  cheek  the  'pink  and 
white  coverlets.  She  walked  slowly  back  and 
put  away  a  few  little  articles  of  the  baby's 
clothing  that  lay  on  the  rug.  "  Not  quite  yet, 
please,  Mary,"  she  said  as  the  nurse  opened  the 
door.  At  last  she  spoke.  She  had  seized  that 
good  old  truth,  that  safe  plank  which  has  been 
grasped  to  the  saving  of  many  in  mental  ship- 
wreck :  "  Two  wrongs  do  not  make  one  right." 


JUSTINA.  135 

"  Hannah,"  she  said,  "  I  have  no  answer  to 
make  to  what  you  have  said.  Certainly  it  has 
nothing  to  do  with  Katy's  case.  If  half  the 
world  does  wrong,  it  is  no  reason  why  the  other 
half  should  do  wrong.  I  am  surprised  that  you, 
with  your  good  sense,  should  think  of  offering 
so  poor  an  excuse,  and  I  am  grieved  that  you 
encourage  Katy  in  a  wrong  and  foolish  feeling, 
—  one  she  will  be  very  sorry  for  some  day,  I 
think.  Katy,  think  of  this  matter  seriously, 
please,  and  pray  about  it,  and  try  to  do  what  is 
right,  won't  you?" 

The  interview  came  to  an  end,  as  Berta  sadly 
thought,  with  little  good  result.  She  put  on  the 
silk  and  laces  and  went  to  the  dinner-party. 
And  when  at  night  Raymond  kissed  her  flushed 
cheek,  and  asked  what  she  was  thinking  of,  she 
smiled  and  returned  the  kiss,  but  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life  hid  a  corner  of  her  heart  from 
her  husband's  loving  eyes. 


XIV. 

No  one  knew  that  this  was  a  dull  year  to 
Justina;  but  some  one  divined  it,  and  that  was 
the  fairy  Berta.  From  the  day  after  that  moun- 
tain excursion  Berta  had  seen  in  her  friend's  eyes 
a  deeper  depth,  and  caught  in  her  voice  a  new 
tone.  Only  a  "very  delicate  intelligence  would 
have  made  this  discovery.  Many  a  mother 
would  not  have  read  this  truth  in  her  child's 
eyes.  Berta  read  it.  She  did  not  understand. 
There  might  be  more  of  pain,  there  might  be 
more  of  joy  in  it  for  Justina.  She  did  not  know. 
Standing  where  she  stood,  she  did  not  dare  to 
hope  or  wish.  But  she  knew  this  much,  —  Jus- 
tina was  no  longer  a  child.  She  took  the 
motherless  girl  to  her  heart  as  never  before. 
She  watched  her,  as  the  weeks  and  months  went 
by,  with  a  mother's  wistfulness ;  she  wished  for 
some  development  of  that  new  fact —  strange  and 
solemn  —  which  shone  out  of  the  girl's  eyes ;  but 
no  development  came.  This  sweet,  rich  nature, 
ripening  into  mellow  womanhood,  was  this  to 
suffer  a  blighting  unfulfilment? 


JUSTIN  A.  137 

Mrs.  Beverly  still  lingered  in  Easterly.  She 
found  herself  uncommonly  annoyed  by  the  un- 
satisfactory state  of  Paul's  love-suit.  She  was 
not  accustomed  to  be  dissatisfied,  and  she  did 
not  know  how  to  treat  the  feeling.  To  be 
sure,  things  did  not  always  go  precisely  as 
Mrs.  Beverly  wished ;  but  she  had  the  delight- 
ful faculty  of  twisting  her  mind  about  to  suit 
events,  if  she  could  not  twist  events  about  to 
suit  her  mind.  In  this  case  neither  of  these 
courses  seemed  possible.  Apparently  she  could 
not  move  this  perverse,  charming,  discouragingly 
friendly  damsel ;  nor  could  she  force  her  mind 
to  give  up  Justina.  It  was  not  so  much  that  she 
loved  the  girl :  Paul  loved  her.  It  was  not  alto- 
gether that  Paul  loved  her,  it  was  that  Justina 
ought  to  love  him.  It  was  so  obviously  a  good 
thing  for  the  girl.  Paul  had  money,  she  had 
none.  Old  Mr.  Wilton  was  slowly  dying.  What 
would  his  niece  do  when  left  alone?  It  was  so 
clearly  a  good  match,  a  suitable  thing;  and  to 
middle  age  suitability  is  everything. 

Spring  came  about  again  and  found  all  these 
things  pending,  —  Katy's  case,  which  was,  how- 
ever, rapidly  progressing  toward  her  desired  bill 
and  another  marriage ;  Mrs.  Beverly's  departure ; 
Paul's  suit.  Time  goes  on  and  does  not  stop  to 
settle  things.  There  is  a  vast  deal  of  daily  living 
to  each  completed  event. 


138  JUSTIN  A. 

So  spring  came  about  again,  and  the  elm- 
arches  began  to  be  perceptibly  green.  Mrs. 
Beverly's  carriage  rolled  beneath  them  one 
afternoon.  Mother  and  daughter  had  been 
making  calls,  and  they  stopped  on  the  way 
home  to  take  up  Justina,  who  was  to  dine 
with  them  to-day.  Justina  came  running  out 
of  the  house,  where  she  had  been  waiting  for 
them  at  the  window.  Her  rich  dark  browns 
showed  soberly  against  Berta's  spring-violet  and 
Mrs.  Beverly's  flashing  jet.  Her  mood  was  as 
strong  a  contrast  to  the  superficiality  and  light- 
ness engendered  by  a  round  of  miscellaneous 
visits.  She  was  fierce  with  indignation  against 
Katy's  lawyer,  whom  Hannah  had  just  been 
quoting,  hot  with  the  reformatory  zeal  of 
youth.  Berta  looked  curiously  and  a  little  un- 
easily at  her  friend.  She  often  did  so  in  these 
days.  Was  Justina  developing  into  the  woman 
of  efforts  and  causes?  Worse  things  might 
befall,  to  be  sure;  and  yet  — 

Mrs.  Beverly  openly  rallied  the  girl,  and 
brought  a  shade  of  annoyance  into  the  flushed, 
earnest  face. 

"  How  charmed  Mr.  Rolfe  will  be  when  he 
comes  home,  to  find  such  a  champion.  You 
will  be  elected  honorary  member  of  all  his 
societies,  and  sit  with  him  on  the  platform. 
Seriously,  dear,"  —  for  she  quickly  saw  the 


JUSTIN  A.  139 

annoyance,  —  "  it  is  lovely  of  you  to  take  this 
matter  of  foolish  Katy  so  much  to  heart;  but 
when  you  are  as  old  as  I,  you  will  have  learned 
that  it  is  impossible  to  right  all  the  wrongs  of 
the  world.  We  must  just  do  the  best  we  can 
where  we  are,  and  let  human  nature  have  its 
way." 

Later  in  the  evening  a  similar  subject  came 
up.  "  Another  conjugal  problem,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Beverly.  Pretty  Mrs.  Atkins,  it  seemed,  did  not 
wish  to  go  with  her  husband  for  a  three-years' 
residence  in  Japan.  She  preferred  to  stay 
with  her  mother.  Mrs.  Beverly  and  Mary, 
who  happened  to  be  there,  sympathized  with 
the  wife.  Justina,  somewhat  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  circle,  took  up  the  cudgels  for  the 
husband. 

"  No,  child,  I  don't  agree  with  you  at  all," 
said  Mrs.  Beverly,  who  dearly  loved  a  lively  dis- 
pute with  nobody  more  than  half  in  earnest. 
"  Mr.  Atkins  should  n't  be  selfish.  He  com- 
plains of  his  loneliness  without  his  wife;  but 
think  of  the  mother  staying  here  without  her 
daughter  !  How  lonely  she  would  be." 

"  Yes  ;  but  the  girl  did  not  promise  to  live  with 
her  mother  always,  —  till  death  should  separate 
them.  She  promised  that  to  her  husband." 

"  Dear  me  !  Would  you  reduce  marriage  to 
a  contract?  Don't  you  suppose  love  —  such 


140  JUSTIN  A. 

• 

love  as  married  people  have  —  would  support 
them  through  three  years'  separation?" 

"  There  you  are  trying  to  puzzle  me,"  said 
Justina.  "  Of  course  I  don't  know  what  the 
kind  of  love  married  people  have  might  lead 
one  to  do  or  to  forego;  but  I  should  suppose 
that  the  love  and  the  contract  went  hand  in 
hand.  There  is  a  contract,  certainly,  and  a 
promise  is  a  promise." 

"  But  don't  you  think  the  husband  ought  to 
consider  the  wife's  good,  and  stay  if  she  wishes 
to  stay?  "  put  in  impartial  Mary. 

"  He  ought  to  consider  her  good,  yes ;  but  if 
they  don't  agree  as  to  that,"  hesitatingly,  "I  — 
I  suppose  —  I  don't  know  —  " 

"  We  are  getting  into  deep  waters  •  here,"  said 
Raymond ;  and  the  discussion  broke  up  in  a 
laugh. 

Justina  agreed  to  the  proposed  music,  and, 
laughing  and  blushing,  proceeded  to  the  piano. 
"  I  Ve  talked  too  long  on  a  subject  I  know 
nothing  about,"  she  said  as  she  went,  "  but 
you  need  n't  suppose  I  retire  worsted  from  the 
field ;  I  am  sure  my  views  are  sound." 

"  I  am  sure  they  are,"  pronounced  Paul,  en- 
tering unexpectedly.  "What  shall  we  sing?" 
He  had  come  in  late  from  a  visit  to  a  patient, 
and  had  been  sitting  listening  behind  the  por- 
tiere. His  greatest  pleasure  at  this  period  was 


JUSTIN  A.  141 

hiding  somewhere  and  hearing  Justina  talk, 
being  near  and  conscious  of  her,  but  leaving 
her  unconscious  of  him. 

Berta  and  her  husband  stood  together  at  their 
window  at  the  end  of  the  evening,  and  laugh- 
ingly recalled  the  Atkins  discussion.  "  It  was  a 
little  too  bad  of  mamma,"  said  Berta.  "Justina 
is  in  such  downright  earnest  to-day.  But  she 
is  right,  Raymond." 

"  Of  course  she  is  right,"  answered  the  law- 
yer. "She  touched  the  sure  foundations.  When 
people  begin  to  look  at  this  thing  less  in  a  senti- 
mental way  and  more  in  a  legal  way,  there  will 
be  fewer  of  these  villanous  proceedings  such  as 
Katy  and  her  counsel  are  at  work  at.  Obliga- 
tion may  last,  sentiment  may  not.  Marriage  is 
a  contract,  as  Justina  said,  and  it  is  not  lowering 
it  to  acknowledge  the  fact.  The  greatest  transac- 
tion of  all  —  that  between  the  soul  of  man  and 
God  —  is  called  a  'contract,'  a  '  covenant;'  and 
the  second  is  like  unto  it,  next  it  in  sacredness 
and  importance."  He  drew  his  wife  nearer  and 
looked  into  her  lovely  face :  "  And  when  the 
obligation  and  the  feeling  flow  together  in  one 
great  stream,  Berta !  —  " 

While  the  husband  and  wife  were  talking  at 
their  window,  Paul  and  Justina  walked  under  the 
moon  down  the  hill.  Paul,  poor  fellow,  was 
happier  than  he  had  been  for  months,  and  they 


142  JUSTIN  A. 

were  making  merry  over  some  stories  of  their 
poor  people.  Justina's  mood  had  relaxed  into 
an  unusual  childlikeness  and  gentleness.  After 
all,  who  was  she  to  right  the  wrongs  of  human- 
kind? The  moon  and  the  earth  were  perfect. 
Paul  was  capital  company.  Her  uncle  —  bless 
him  !  — would  be -waiting  for  her  at  home,  ready 
for  his  evening  wine-glass  and  biscuit,  and  after- 
ward for  the  evening  prayer.  Fidele  would  come 
fondling  about  her ;  comfortable  Hannah  would 
linger  to  confer  about  breakfast.  Comfort  and 
kindness  were  on  every  hand,  and  life  was  a 
pleasant  enough  story,  if  not  a  very  heroic  one. 

The  same  evening  two  gentlemen  were  slowly 
pacing  up  and  down  the  glazed  corridor  of  a 
Montreux  pension,  in  a  flood  of  silver  moon- 
light. The  elder  and  slighter  walked  feebly,  and 
clung  to  the  other's  arm.  "  The  eighth  time 
back,"  he  said,  as  they  turned  at  the  end  of  the 
corridor.  "  Once  more,  and  we  shall  have  com- 
pleted the  quarter-mile.  Then  I  will  sit  down." 

"  Very  well,  father." 

The  son  motioned  to  the  servant  who  stood 
near,  and  a  large  reclining-chair,  full  of  wraps 
and  cushions,  was  made  ready  just  within  one 
of  the  long  open  windows. 

"  John,"  said  the  old  man,  sinking  back  among 
the  cushions,  "  I  believe  we  have  had  enough  of 
this  sort  of  thing.  Let  us  go  home." 


JUS  TIN  A.  143 

"  Well,  sir.  Of  course  we  will  go  home,  father, 
if  you  think  best." 

This  was  what  he  had  said  often  enough  be- 
fore. He  said  it  now,  feeling  that  it  was  for  the 
last  time,  and  smitten  with  a  sudden  sense  of 
cruelty  toward  this  poor  old  man.  "  I  hoped 
you  had  been  feeling  rather  better  of  late,  sir," 
he  began  humbly. 

"  It  is  n't  a  matter  of  feeling,  my  son.  I  'm  an 
old  man,  and  the  best  place  for  an  old  man  is 
home.  I  may  live,  I  may  live  for  years,  —  that's 
what  they  all  tell  me ;  but  I  'm  broken  down, 
and  there  's  nothing  so  good  for  me  as  the  reg- 
ular life  at  home,  with  all  the  home  interests 
and  home  work.  The  doctors  on  this  side,  of 
course,  will  never  say  so.  They  want  to  keep 
hold  of  a  man  so  long  as  he 's  above  ground. 
But  I  understand  the  case,  John,  better  than  the 
doctors ;  I  know  what  I  need." 

"  Have  you  thought  when  you  would  like  to 
go,  father?  " 

"  No ;  only  the  sooner  the  better.  There  is 
nothing  to  keep  us  here.  It  may  be  a  little  dull 
for  you  in  Easterly,  John;  I  don't  see  how  it 
can  be  duller  than  this  pension  life." 

John  rose  and  strode  rapidly  across  the  room, 
then  returned,  and  seated  himself  by  his  father's 
side.  "  I  am  ready  for  Easterly,  father,"  he  said. 

"  You   have  been  very  patient  with  my  in- 


144  JUSTIN  A. 

validism,  my  son ;  I  thank  you.  Now  I  think 
we  can  be  vastly  comfortable  at  home." 

The  old  man's  spirits  rose  at  the  very  thought. 

"  There  is  no  place  in  the  world,"  he  went  on 
with  animation,  "  no  place  in  the  world  for 
thorough  good  living — mental  and  physical  — 
like  a  well-regulated  New  England  town,  not 
too  far  from  Boston." 

"  And  not  too  near  it,"  suggested  John. 

"  Yes,  and  not  too  near  it.  It  must  have  its 
own  individual  life.  I  wish  you  were  less  of  a 
rolling  stone,  John.  Indeed,  I  believe  you  will 
come  to  like  home  if  you  give  it  a  fair  trial.  But 
at  any  rate,  if  you  don't  come  to  like  it,  it  won't 
be  for  very  long  that  I  shall  tie  you  down,  John ; 
not  many  years  at  the  most.  You  can  afford  it. 
Let  me  see,  you  are  —  how  old?" 

"  Within  a  year  of  forty,  father." 

"  Forty?  Yes,  so  you  must  be,  nearly  forty. 
It  seems  a  long  time  ago,  —  that  day.  And  yet 
it  is  not  old.  Forty  looks  young  to  a  man  near- 
ing  eighty.  John,  you  are  still  in  the  prime  of 
life." 

This  last  he  said  tentatively.  He  had  an 
idea  of  putting  a  question.  He  remembered  a 
sad  experience  of  John,  a  most  unpleasant 
entanglement,  and  how  grieved  Rachel  had 
been  about  it.  Really,  he  had  forgotten  how 
the  thing  ended.  Rachel  had  died,  and  John 


JUSTINA.  145 

had  been  so  much  away.  He  had  the  impres- 
sion —  But,  really,  he  did  not  know.  He  had 
some  notion  of  asking  John  about  it  now;  but 
he  saw  a  mighty  frown  rising  on  his  son's  face, 
and  he  desisted.  He  changed  the  subject,  and 
began  to  talk  about  ways  and  means  of  getting 
home. 

"  I  must  have  a  week  or  ten  days  in  England, 
father ;  then  I  shall  be  at  your  service." 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes !  that  customary  ten  days  in 
England,"  laughed  the  father;  "we  will  allow 
for  that." 

The  lamp  was  lighted,  guide-books  and  time- 
tables were  brought,  and  the  matter  was  settled 
within  half  an  hour. 

"  Yes,  Scott,  the  Fourth  of  July  will  see  us  in 
Easterly,"  said  the  invalid  gayly,  as  his  valet 
came  to  attend  him  to  bed.  "  I  always  like  to 
be  at  the  Asylum  Supper  that  day,  you  know. 
And  we  shall  be  in  time,  John,  for  the  annual 
meetings  of  most  of  the  societies." 


10 


XV. 

JUSTINA  fastened  a  cluster  of  crimson  roses 
in  the  bosom  of  her  cream-white  gown.  It  was 
the  last  touch  to  a  lovely  picture,  and  beneath 
the  dark  lashes  the  gold-gray  eyes  might  have 
shone  admiringly  into  the  mirror.  They  did 
not.  They  gazed  steadily  straight  before  them 
with  a  quiet  pleasure  in  their  depths.  Perhaps 
this  vision  of  noble  womanhood  formed  one 
element  of  the  satisfaction,  and  perhaps  some 
other  hidden  content  lay  at  the  bottom  of  her 
heart.  But  she  was  not  thinking  of  herself  at 
the  moment.  She  was  thinking  she  was  glad 
her  uncle  had  consented  to  go  to  Mrs.  Beverly's 
dinner-party,  and  was  well  enough  to  do  so ;  and 
though  thin  and  vanishing  and  a  trifle  eerie  with 
his  writing-tablets  in  his  hand  and  his  eyes  full 
of  questions,  yet  how  fine  and  choice  he  had 
looked  when  she  left  him  just  now  downstairs, 
and  ran  up  to  finish  her  own  toilet.  She  dared 
not  leave  him  in  his  own  room,  lest  he  should 
forget  himself  and  plunge  into  some  of  his 
chemicals.  She  provided  him  with  a  thick  blue 
pamphlet,  and  felt  tolerably  secure. 


JUSTIN  A.  147 

It  was  a  most  unheard  of  thing,  Mr.  Wilton's 
going  out  to  dinner.  But  then  it  was  an  unusual 
occasion,  one  which,  as  Mrs.  Beverly  said,  would 
never  come  again.  It  was  that  lady's  fiftieth 
birthday,  and  fifty  carefully  selected  guests  were 
to  assemble  to  do  her  honor.  Even  Mrs.  Bev- 
erly Smith,  who  never  went  anywhere,  was  going, 
and  dear,  simple  Mr.  Wilton,  with  his  old-school 
notions  of  politeness,  had  been  quite  unable  to 
resist  Mrs.  Beverly's  flattering  entreaties. 

One  of  the  promised  attractions  was  a  certain 
Mrs.  Cholmondely,  an  English  lady  who  was 
visiting  the  Rolfes ;  and  the  Rolfes  themselves 
would  of  course  be  there.  The  elder,  though 
visibly  feebler  than  when  he  left  home  a  year 
ago,  declared  himself  made  young  again  by  a 
return  to  Easterly  air,  and  was  quite  equal  to  an 
occasional  social  indulgence. 

Father  and  son  had  now  been  at  home  some 
weeks.  In  kind,  if  not  in  degree,  the  old  re- 
lations with  Spring  Street  were  re-established. 
Justina  had  been  unaffectedly  cordial  in  her  wel- 
come to  both  men.  Her  manner  to  himself, 
Rolfe  thought,  was  just  what  it  had  always 
been,  —  the  same  mingling  of  frankness  and  re- 
serve which  had  charmed  him  that  day  long  ago 
on  the  little  steamer's  deck.  He  watched  her 
now  with  a  breathless,  aching  carefulness,  and 
he  could  see  no  change.  His  mute,  unsent 


148  JUSTIN  A. 

appeal  had  been  answered,  he  thought,  and  he 
told  himself  that  he  was  satisfied.  "  It  is  well," 
he  said ;  "  she  has  forgotten.  I  am  glad ;  I  will 
be  glad." 

Mrs.  Cholmondely  was  a  woman  of  whom 
everybody  spoke  in  a  tone  that  implied  a  great 
deal.  No  one  seemed  to  know  the  precise 
grounds  of  her  distinction,  but  assuredly  she 
was  no  common  person.  Mrs.  Cholmondely 
got  the  credit  of  a  good  deal  of  anonymous 
literary  work.  There  was  a  general  impression 
that  there  was  nothing  she  could  not  do  if  she 
wished.  The  latest  popular  novel  was  often  laid 
to  her  charge,  and  nobody  believed  her  when 
she  languidly  affirmed  that  she  never  had  written 
a  novel,  and  had  no  intention  of  writing  one.  Her 
criticisms  and  analyses  of  men  and  events  were 
so  keen,  her  interest  was  so  general,  and  her  abili- 
ties were  so  decided,  that  novel-writing  was  a 
sufficiently  natural  supposition.  But  Mrs.  Chol- 
mondely told  the  truth.  She  wrote  no  novels. 
She  did  not  even  read  novels  as  much  as  most 
women  read  them.  She  did  not  care  for  fiction. 
She  read  facts.  She  was  greatly  interested  in 
the  stories  going  on  about  her  in  life.  It  would 
be  inexact  to  say  "  deeply  "  interested,  for  much 
observing  dulls  the  edge  of  feeling ;  and  as  the 
habitual  play-goer  becomes  hardened  to  real 
distress,  so  Mrs.  Cholmondely  often  looked  on 


JUSTINA.  149 

with  only  such  a  degree  of  sympathy  as  was 
pleasurable  to  herself.  She  had  become  a  spec- 
tator of  life,  —  a  kindly,  and  often  a  helpful  one  ; 
but  a  spectator.  For  herself,  she  had  no  story. 
Her  relations  with  others  were  for  the  most 
part  the  superficial  relations  of  society,  —  always 
agreeable,  often  very  kindly.  When  the  Rolfes 
met  Mrs.  Cholmondely  on  the  homeward  steamer, 
it  had  been  a  mutual  pleasure.  They  were  old 
acquaintances,  though  they  had  not  met  for  years. 
Mrs.  Cholmondely  was  interested  in  seeing  John 
and  his  father  once  more,  and  observing  what 
the  years  had  done  for  them.  She  did  not  like 
to  lose  sight  of  people.  Indeed  she  had  not 
lost  sight  of  the  Rolfes.  She  knew  more  or  less 
of  their  history  during  all  this  time.  But  she 
was  glad  to  have  personal  intercourse  with  them 
again,  and  she  readily  accepted  their  invitation 
to  visit  them  at  Easterly. 

This  lady  stood  on  the  terrace  buttoning  her 
long  glove  when  John  came  out  ready  for  the 
dinner-party  and  walked  rapidly  toward  her. 

"  Mrs.  Cholmondely,"  he  said,  "  you  know 
about  my  early  life.  You  know,  I  think,  my 
present  condition.  You  remember  —  " 

She  looked  up,  and  one  glance  moved  her  to 
help  him.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  know  your 
bonds." 

"The  fact  is  not  known  here,  I  have  found. 


ISO  JUSTIN  A. 

Will  you  do  me  the  kindness  to  mention  it  this 
evening  incidentally,  and  if  possible  without 
particulars?"  He  shivered  as  he  thought  of  the 
Easterly  tongues. 

He  turned  at  once,  and  went  back  to  meet 
his  father,  who  was  advancing,  with  Scott's  assist- 
ance, in  the  most  smiling  of  moods. 

"  What  a  face !  "  thought  Mrs.  Cholmondely 
as  the  carriage  rolled  down  the  drive,  and  genial 
old  Mr.  Rolfe  chattered  on,  while  John  sat  silent 
by  his  side.  "  What  a  face  !  how  fierce  and  de- 
termined !  Poor  fellow  !  And  I  remember  him 
so  different,  —  the  bright,  noble  youth  by  his 
mother's  side.  The  nobility  is  there :  but  the 
brightness !  There  must  be  some  reason  for 
this ;  there  must  be  some  one  he  wishes  to  have 
know.  Poor  fellow,  what  a  story !  " 

Mrs.  Cholmondely  watched  her  opportunity. 
After  the  long  brilliant  dinner  there  was  of 
course  a  scattering  through  the  grounds  and  the 
various  rooms.  But  as  darkness  fell  and  the 
chilliness  of  evening,  the  ladies  began  to  gather 
in  the  large  drawing-room,  and  a  few  gentlemen 
were  with  them.  Most  of  the  men  were  still 
in  the  library  or  the  smoking-room,  or  on  the 
verandas.  There  was  to  be  music  (there  was 
always  music  at  the  Beverlys),  and  some  light 
amateur  theatricals  were  afterward  to  be  pre- 
sented. By  common  consent  the  groups  as  they 


JUSTIN  A.  151 

came  in  seated  themselves  near  the  curtain  which 
opened  on  the  improvised  stage.  The  musical 
instruments  were  clustered  in  a  corner  near  the 
stage,  and  Paul  and  some  of  the  other  perform- 
ers were  already  hovering  about  them.  Mrs. 
Cholmondely  was  however  as  yet  the  centre  of 
attraction.  The  various  groups  had  drawn  near 
to  hers,  and  she  was  talking  on  in  her  graceful, 
easy  monologue.  "  Now  is  my  time,"  she 
thought ;  "  there  will  be  none  better !  "  She 
paused  scarcely  an  instant  after  her  thought 
"  It  has  been  such  a  pleasure  to  me,"  she  said, 
"  to  see  the  Rolfes  again  after  so  many  years, 
especially  John.  I  have  known  him  since  his 
youth,  —  before  his  unfortunate  marriage;  and 
his  wife's  family  are  old  friends." 

Justina  was  standing  by  the  piano.  Mrs. 
Cholmondely  by  some  instinct  was  looking  at 
her  at  this  moment.  The  girl  put  out  her  hand 
quickly  but  quietly,  and  seized  the  edge  of  the 
piano.  Her  face  grew  white,  but  not  a  muscle 
moved.  "  She  will  fall,"  thought  the  watchful 
story-teller.  But  Justina  did  not  fall.  She  sank 
slowly,  and  to  all  appearance  naturally,  on  the 
piano-stool,  and  still  steadied  herself  by  that 
outstretched  hand.  As  the  walls  of  the  room 
seemed  to  sway  and  totter  about  her  she  heard 
acutely  Mrs.  Cholmondely's  voice  above  the 
chorus  of  questions,  — 


152  JUS  TIN  A. 

"Living  still?  Oh,  yes!" 

Paul,  who  stood  just  behind  Justina,  came  a 
step  nearer ;  and  with  a  word  about  the  intoler- 
able heat  of  so  many  gaslights,  he  threw  up  the 
window  and  drew  aside  the  curtain.  He  had 
glanced  but  once  at  her  face.  His  own  was 
smitten  with  desolation.  Mrs.  Beverly  looked 
furtively  from  her  sofa  one  instant,  then  joined 
in  the  questions  and  comments  of  the  ladies 
near  her.  High-bred  Mrs.  Beverly!  She  never 
in  her  life  had  talked  so  fast  or  so  excitedly,  and 
for  a  minute  or  two  the  attention  of  every  one 
was  centred  on  herself  and  Mrs.  Cholmondely. 
Mrs.  Cholmondely  out  of  her  wide-open  cool  blue 
eyes  saw  all,  even  the  furtive  glance.  "  It  is  that 
young  creature,"  she  said  to  herself;  "  and  no- 
body guesses  but  that  splendid  fellow  and  his 
mother,  who  reads  the  girl's  heart  through  his 
face.  What  a  story !  Read  novels  ?  Write  them  ? 
Not  I,  in  a  world  like  this !  " 

Berta  left  her  seat  near  Mrs.  Cholmondely, 
and  quietly  and  rapidly  walked  toward  the 
piano.  On  the  way  she  spoke  to  Mary  Beverly, 
who  followed  her  and  took  a  seat  by  Justina's 
side.  Berta  placed  before  the  two  a  large  book 
of  Chopin's  duets.  "  Play  the  bass,  Justina," 
she  said  in  a  low  voice.  The  first  thing  on  the 
programme  was  to  have  been  a  vocal  duet  by 
Justina  and  Paul.  It  was  time  to  begin,  and 


JUSTIN  A.  153 

the  guests  who  had  been  in  other  rooms  were 
entering  at  the  various  doors  and  windows. 
Mary  wondered  at  the  change,  but  good-na- 
turedly accepted  it,  and  plunged  into  the  noisy 
march.  The  bass  came  in  mechanically  at  the 
right  time,  and  went  on  mechanically.  Justina 
felt  herself  turned  into  a  machine,  and  wondered 
how  she  should  ever  stop.  She  was  still  so  pale 
that  Mrs.  Cholmondely,  who  had  slightly  moved 
her  chair  so  that  she  could  see  round  the  corner 
of  the  music-book,  thought  the  girl  would  yet 
fall.  Mrs.  Cholmondely  was  getting  intensely 
interested.  This  was  no  common  case,  and  her 
heart  really  ached  for  these  people.  What 
would  become  of  that  white-faced  girl? 

Rescue  came.  Berta,  who  had  been  out  of 
the  room  during  the  progress  of  the  duet,  re- 
turned just  before  its  close.  One  glance  at  her 
friend's  set  face  and  automatic  fingers  decided 
her.  "  Justina,"  she  said,  quite  distinctly,  in  the 
pause  which  followed  the  murmur  of  applause, 
"  I  am  sorry  to  say  your  uncle  is  feeling  rather 
ill  in  the  library.  I  believe  you  will  have  to 
come  to  him."  Her  tone  was  not  loud,  but  it 
easily  reached  those  sitting  near.  She  took 
Justina's  arm,  and  they  passed  rapidly  out  at 
the  nearest  door.  "That  is  either  a  most  awk- 
ward or  a  most  exquisite  piece  of  work,"  com- 
mented Mrs.  Cholmondely.  "  If  she  suspects, 


154  JUSTIN  A. 

it  is  exquisite."     But  even  Mrs.  Cholmondely 
was  not  sure  that  Berta  did  suspect. 

The  two  friends  stepped  into  the  deserted 
dining-room,  and  Berta  made  Justina  sit  by  the 
open  window.  She  poured  out  a  glass  of  wine 
and  handed  her,  talking  all  the  time.  "  It  is  a 
pretty  wearisome  affair  for  poor  Mr.  Wilton; 
but  he  will  be  all  right  if  you  can  go  home  with 
him  now,  and  the  carriage  will  be  here  in  a 
minute.  Yes,  you  must  drink  it,  dear;  there 
is  such  a  chill  in  the  evening  air,  and  you've 
been  in  a  warm  room.  Don't  be  troubled  about 
your  parts  in  the  programme.  I  can  arrange 
all  that,  and  fortunately  we  have  announced 
nothing." 

It  was  quite  true  that  Mr.  Wilton  was  not  well. 
They  found  him  in  the  library  looking  wretch- 
edly tired,  and  delighted  to  be  told  that  the  car- 
riage was  ready  to  take  him  home.  It  was 
nearly  ten  o'clock  already,  and  the  old  gentle- 
man felt  extremely  dissipated  when  he  alighted 
a  few  minutes  later  at  the  door  of  the  dark,  quiet 
little  house  in  Spring  Street. 

John  Rolfe  was  not  a  weak  man,  but  he 
suffered  that  evening  a  terrible  recoil  from  the 
resolution  he  had  forced  upon  himself.  Why 
should  he  do  this  thing  after  all?  Why  not  let 
things  drift  on  as  they  would?  He  fought  this 
feeling  during  the  whole  of  the  long  dreadful 


JUSTIN  A.  155 

dinner,  where  he  sat  nearly  opposite  Justina, 
within  sight  of  her  rich  loveliness  and  within 
sound  of  her  dear  voice.  At  last  he  suddenly 
yielded  to  it.  He  left  the  group  of  men  with 
whom  he  was  talking  on  the  veranda,  and  went 
toward  the  drawing-room.  He  would  find  Mrs. 
Cholmondely.  He  would  fasten  himself  to  her, 
and  effectually  prevent  her  saying  anything 
about  him.  Mistaken  man  that  he  was  to  judge 
this  the  best  way  of  letting  Justina  know !  She 
did  not  care,  of  course.  Then  why  must  she 
know?  Or,  if  he  thought  on  further  reflection 
that  she  ought  to  know,  he  would  tell  her  some 
day  himself.  He  fancied  her  kind  eyes  looking 
wonderingly  at  him  as  he  told  her.  He  thought 
she  would  be  sorry.  He  thought  she  would  not 
blame  him.  He  hastened  down  the  veranda. 
But  it  was  too  late.  As  he  came  near  a  window 
he  heard  the  women's  voices  tossing  his  name 
about.  "  Oh !  yes,"  Mrs.  Beverly  Smith  was 
saying,  "  I  have  always  known  there  was  some- 
thing peculiar.  He  has  always  been  eccentric ; 
but  I  never  suspected  this  !  " 

Filled  with  rage  and  disgust,  he  strode  fiercely 
on.  At  that  moment  the  music  began,  and 
through,  the  window  which  Paul  had  thrown  up 
he  saw  Justina  at  the  piano.  Had  she  too 
commented  and  wondered  and  been  properly 
shocked?  At  all  events  she  could  play  on 


1 56  JUSTINA. 

unmoved.  He  stood  and  devoured  her  with  hun- 
gry and  angry  eyes.  How  should  the  man  see 
that  she  was  pale  ?  He  saw  that  she  was  beau- 
tiful. He  turned  away,  and  was  seen  no  more 
till  it  was  time  to  look  for  his  father  and  guest 
and  take  them  home. 


XVI. 

DURING  the  weeks  that  followed,  Rolfe  met 
Justina  infrequently  and  briefly.  It  was  an  agony 
to  him  even  to  see  her  at  a  distance  moving 
about  the  streets,  and  her  quiet  smile  and  bow 
filled  him  with  unreasoning  bitterness.  He  did 
not  look  into  her  face  long  enough  to  read  its 
accession  of  peace  and  strength. 

For  herself,  she  had  entered  on  a  new  life. 
Born  of  her  pain,  a  great  exultation  had  risen 
within  her.  Now  she  could  understand.  Now 
she  dared  say  to  herself:  "I  do  care,  —  I  care, 
and  I  can  help."  A  woman's  strength  feeds  on 
emergencies.  Now  was  her  hour.  Now  she 
could  perhaps  be  something  to  him,  do  some- 
thing for  him. 

She  was  quite  in  the  dark  about  this  thing 
Mrs.  Cholmondely  had  told.  She  did  not  un- 
derstand. There  must  be  some  very  strange, 
sad  history, —  Mrs.  Cholmondely  had  said  "un- 
fortunate." She  remembered  now  words  of  his 
own  at  various  times.  "My  mother  sent  me  to 
Nature,"  he  said  once.  "  Was  it  not  wise?  Was 
it  not  kind?  Think  what  a  friend  Nature  has 


158  JUSTIN  A. 

been  to  me  !  "  She  remembered  that  now,  and 
other  little  things.  But  she  was  not  curious  nor 
anxious.  She  believed  in  him.  When  a  woman 
loves,  her  trust  is  almost  infinite. 

One  morning  she  was  coming  home  after  a 
walk,  and  when  very  near  her  uncle's  house  she 
saw  Rolfe  approaching  from  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. She  saw  that  he  tried  to  avoid  her.  He 
looked  helplessly  about  for  some  chance  of  es- 
cape ;  but  it  was  too  late.  They  met  near  the 
gate,  and  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  do  less 
than  stop  and  inquire  for  Mr.  Wilton,  whom  he 
knew  to  be  rapidly  failing. 

"  My  uncle  is  getting  \veaker,"  she  answered. 
"  He  rarely  goes  out  now.  He  asks  for  you, 
Mr.  Rolfe,  nearly  every  day.  I  think  he  misses 
you."  She  paused  an  instant.  "  You  do  not 
come  to  see  him  very  often  now." 

Rolfe  never  forgot  the  look  of  childlikeness 
and  angelic  kindness  she  turned  upon  him  while 
she  spoke  these  simple  words.  He  tried  to  smile 
in  return.  But  a  great  longing  came  upon  him 
and  overwhelmed  him ;  it  choked  his  voice. 

"I  —  I  cannot  come  very  often,"  he  said 
hoarsely,  and  the  smile  went  out  in  hopelessness. 

She  could  not  meet  that  look.  She  turned 
away  her  head,  and  in  turning  she  caught  sight 
of  her  uncle  at  his  window. 

"  Perhaps   you  can  come  in  now  for  a  few 


JUSTIN  A.  159 

minutes.  There  is  uncle  at  the  window  bowing 
and  smiling.  Do  you  see?  " 

She  spoke  as  lightly  as  she  could.  But  there 
was  a  tremor  in  her  voice,  and  a  wonderful  gen- 
tleness that  made  his  heart  leap  up  for  an  instant, 
and  then  quieted  it. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  and  followed  her 
through  the  little  yard  to  the  house.  It  was  as 
if  some  one  had  stretched  out  a  steadying  hand. 
He  had  a  sense  of  having  seized  on  some  sup- 
port, a  consciousness  of  an  influx  of  quiet 
strength.  Could  it  have  come  through  the 
shaken  voice  of  this  slender  girl?  He  did  not 
attempt  to  explain  the  feeling,  he  rested  in  it. 

She  led  the  way  through  the  halls  to  her 
uncle's  room.  She  lingered  a  little  in  familiar 
dallying  with  her  hat  and  gloves,  putting  in  a 
little  word  here  and  there,  and  then  she  left 
them.  Mr.  Wilton  was  in  his  happiest  mood. 
His  theories  were  lightly  held  as  he  approached 
the  one  great  certainty.  Yet  he  still  liked  to 
talk  about  them.  If  he  had  ever  had  a  bitter- 
ness in  his  heart  or  a  discontent,  it  had  fled  away 
now.  Half  an  hour  of  intercourse  over  the 
familiar  tablets  restored  the  old  pleasant  rela- 
tionship, and  brought  back  Rolfe's  natural  face 
and  tone.  He  would  come  oftener  now,  he  said. 
He  had  been  busy  with  some  special  work,  but 
the  worst  of  it  was  over. 


160  JUSTIN  A. 

As  he  came  downstairs  the  cheerful  domes- 
ticity of  the  little  hall  and  parlors  smote  him 
keenly.  He  must  see  her  again  for  a  moment, 
—  the  woman  whose  home,  whose  atmosphere 
this  was.  He  looked  into  the  parlor.  She 
was  not  there.  But  the  harp  stood  in  its  place, 
and  the  open  piano,  and  sheets  of  music  were 
lying  about.  A  work-basket  with  gay  wools 
stood  on  a  little  table.  Fidele  was  asleep  in 
a  low  chair.  A  book,  with  paper-cutter  in 
its  leaves,  lay  open  on  the  round  table ;  a  lily 
stood  in  a  slender  vase;  and  the  wind  was 
bulging  the  white  curtains  and  blowing  the 
sweet  airs  about  He  shut  himself  out  with 
something  like  a  groan.  Nevertheless  his  hurt 
had  been  healed,  and  he  went  home  less  heavy 
hearted. 

The  two  old  men,  friends  for  many  years,  met 
a  few  times  more.  Mr.  Rolfe's  chief  difficulty 
was  lameness.  He  was  unable  to  walk,  or  even 
to  climb  into  his  carriage,  without  pain.  But 
Scott  trundled  him  about  in  the  wheel-chair,  and 
he  dispensed  his  pleasantries  as  cheerfully  as  in 
his  best  days.  Mr.  Wilton  rallied  during  the 
fall,  and  sometimes  crept  out  with  his  niece  into 
their  bit  of  a  garden. 

One  Indian  summer  afternoon — Justina  re- 
membered it  long  for  its  loveliness  and  for  its 
subdued  happiness  —  they  were  sitting  on  their 


JUSTIN  A.  l6l 

side  piazza  when  Mr.  Rolfe  was  wheeled  up,  with 
John  walking  by  his  side.  The  elders  soon  fell 
into  quiet  discourse.  Rolfe  and  Justina  took 
part  in  it  occasionally,  or  chatted  by  themselves, 
or  were  silent.  She  was  quite  free  with  him 
now.  A  sweet  womanly  instinct  —  the  latent 
motherhood  that  is  in  every  woman  —  filled  all 
her  words  and  ways  with  a  gentle  friendliness 
and  cheer.  An  instinct  as  sure  told  her  when  to 
stay  her  hand.  Deeper  than  the  mere  surface 
of  things  they  must  not  go  together,  but  per- 
haps she  could  make  that  surface  sunny.  His 
manner  to  her  at  this  time  was  often  —  it  was 
that  afternoon  —  that  of  a  father  or  elder  brother. 
He  treated  her  as  one  treats  a  child  whom  he 
loves  to  have  near,  whose  presence  brings  no 
drop  of  bitterness,  only  simple  pleasure.  This 
was  not  always  his  mood ;  but  it  was  his  mood 
to-day,  and  it  gave  them  a  very  happy  afternoon. 

He  watched  her  at  her  knitting,  and  was  inter- 
ested in  the  ingenuity  of  the  stitch.  He  told 
her  about  an  article  he  had  recently  been  writing 
on  the  leaf-cutting  ants,  stating  his  points,  freed 
from  technicalities,  in  his  clear,  vigorous  way. 
Then  the  talk  fell  on  what  Mr.  Wilton  held  in 
his  hand,  —  the  pupa  of  a  locust  from  which  the 
winged  creature  had  gone  out.  It  was  a  sug- 
gestive and  inspiring  object  to  the  two  old  men. 

"It  looks  like  death,  eh,  John?"  said  Mr. 
ii 


1 62  JUSTIN  A. 

Wilton,  with  his  sharp,  questioning  eyes  on  his 
friend's  face.  "  But  I  saw  the  creature  come  out 
and  fly  away." 

"  I  believe  in  the  resurrection  of  the  dead," 
wrote  the  elder  Rolfe  on  the  tablet,  and  his  mien 
grew  unwontedly  serious  and  sweet. 

Mr.  Wilton  smiled,  but  his  eyes  still  searched 
John's  face. 

The  tall  man  reached  forward  and  wrote  with 
the  readiness  of  one  whose  conviction  is  formed : 
"  It  seems  to  me  a  very  clear  inference,  —  some 
form  of  resurrection.  We  don't  know  about  par- 
ticulars, nor  need  we  know."  And  again,  after 
a  moment :  "  What  we  call  death  in  many  cases 
does  not  touch  life.  It  makes  bad  work.  But 
after  all  —  you  and  I  have  found  it  so  in  many  in- 
stances, have  we  not,  sir? —  it  only  brushes  the 
outside,  it  does  not  touch  the  core." 

"  But  life,"  he  said,  turning  to  Justina,  and 
she  thought  he  looked  like  a  prophet,  "life  is 
universal,  infinite !  What  do  you  suppose  I  have 
under  my  microscope  at  this  moment?  A  liv- 
ing plant  —  an  alga  —  growing  on  the  face  of  a 
silver  coin  of  the  time  of  George  III.  And 
a  microscopist  in  Berlin  has  lately  examined 
what  is  still  more  remarkable,  —  living,  moving 
animals  on  coins.  They  live,  both  plants  and 
animals,  in  the  black  incrustation  —  the  dirt  — 
you  see  on  coins." 


JUSTINA.  163 

"  And  they  are  much  more  agreeable  subjects, 
Miss  Wilton,"  said  the  father,  who  could  never 
be  serious  too  long  at  a  time,  — "  much  more 
agreeable  than  some  of  the  buzzing,  humming 
tribes  we  entertain  in  our  library.  Here  is  Scott, 
John,  and  we  must  go.  We  will  meet  again 
soon." 

But  it  was  the  last  time.  A  day  or  two  after- 
ward Mr.  Wilton  suffered  a  serious  access  of  his 
disease,  and  Justina  entered  upon  that  long  his- 
tory of  anxieties  and  watchings,  waning  hopes 
and  increasing  fears,  known  to  those  who  have 
had  the  care  of  the  aged.  The  old  man  never 
again  left  his  room,  and  seldom  spoke  or  stirred. 
But  the  snows  had  come  and  gone,  and  the 
spring  winds~were  again  blowing  upon  the  earth, 
before  he  quite  burst  the  shell  and  was  set  free. 


XVII. 

DURING  these  months  Rolfe  came  and  went, 
full  of  kind  offices,  like  all  the  rest  of  Easterly, 
but  restless  and  variable  of  mood.  Much  of 
the  time  the  man's  heart  stormed  and  beat  furi- 
ously against  its  barriers.  The  woman  he  loved 
was  in  anxiety,  in  sorrow.  And  he,  —  was  he 
bound  hand  and  foot  that  he  could  do  nothing 
for  her,  say  nothing  to  her,  beyond  what  might 
be  done  and  said  by  an  ordinary  acquaintance? 
He  would  do  more.  His  love  gave  him  some 
claim,  some  rights.  His  whole  nature,  starved 
so  long,  cried  out  for  satisfaction.  He  must  at 
least  tell  her  his  story.  He  must  know  what 
she  had  to  say  to  him,  if  she  had  anything  to 
say  to  him.  He  must  know  it  from  her  own 
lips. 

With  this  resolve  he  had  come  more  than 
once  to  the  house.  But  either  he  could  not  see 
her,  or  she  had  soothed  him  into  content  by  her 
sweet  friendliness,  or  charmed  him  into  some 
safe  region  of  superficialities  and  indifferent 
things. 


JUSTIN  A.  165 

At  last  there  came  a  winter  afternoon  when 
he  could  no  longer  be  put  off.  Justina  had  come 
down  from  her  uncle's  room  for  a  little  change. 
She  found  the  parlor  filled  with  blue  melancholy 
light  from  the  new-fallen  sunless  snow.  She 
partially  drew  the  warm  red  curtains  and  stirred 
up  the  fire.  She  was  scarcely  seated  when 
Hannah  opened  the  door  and  admitted  Rolfe. 

He  briefly  made  the  usual  inquiries,  then  he 
turned  his  face  upon  her.  "Justina,"  he  said, 
"we  will  not  play  with  generalities  to-day.  I 
have  come  to  tell  you  a  story.  You  must  let 
me  tell  it." 

She  looked  at  him  and  knew  that  the  time 
was  come.  "  Tell  it,  please,"  she  said. 

And  he  told  her ;  calmed  by  her  trustfulness, 
softened  more  than  either  of  them  knew  by  the 
tender  listening  face,  he  told  her  his  whole  life. 

Eighteen  years  before,  when  he  was  twenty- 
one  years  old,  he  had  been  sent,  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  his  university  course,  on  a  voyage  around 
the  world  in  one  of  his  father's  ships.  He 
travelled  like  a  prince,  with  a  retinue  of  gay 
young  men ;  and  at  the  various  ports  at  which 
they  touched,  there  were  great  festivities  in  their 
honor.  At  Canton,  among  the  English  colo- 
nists, where  his  father  was  well  known,  they  re- 
mained some  weeks.  One  night  at  a  ball  he 
danced  repeatedly  with  a  rather  pretty  young 


1 66  JUSTIN  A. 

English  girl,  and  before  he  left  her  he  had 
offered  her  marriage. 

"  I  was  beside  myself,"  he  said  solemnly  and 
humbly.  "Justina,  it  was  the  only  time  in  my 
life.  Can  you  forgive  me?  I  was  beside  my- 
self with  wine.  It  was  a  loathsome  sin,  and 
bitterly  have  I  been  punished  for  it." 

"  A  day  or  two  after  this,"  he  went  on,  "  I  was 
seized  with  one  of  the  fevers  common  in  that 
climate.  When  I  woke  from  the  delirium  of 
the  disease,  I  found  myself  in  a  cool,  shaded 
place,  surrounded  by  every  comfort  and  tended 
with  the  kindest  care.  I  had  been  taken,  it 
seemed,  to  the  house  of  this  girl's  father  at  -her 
request,  and  received  there  as  her  affianced 
husband.  Her  father  —  a  timid,  spiritless  man 
he  proved  to  be,  but  kind-hearted  —  was  assidu- 
ously attentive.  The  elder  sisters  were  good 
care-taking  women,  and  they  nursed  me  with 
real  tenderness.  The  mother  was  not  living. 
I  was  made  much  of.  I  was  loaded  with  every 
kindness  within  their  power  during  those  weeks 
of  convalescence.  I  was  soon  reminded,  —  not 
too  delicately,  perhaps ;  but  in  the  midst  of  this 
hospitality  and  tenderness  one  could  not  be 
over-critical,  —  I  was  reminded  of  my  position, 
which  in  truth  I  but  dimly  remembered.  With 
the  weakness  of  youth  and  of  illness,  and  from 
a  false  sense  of  honor,  I  accepted  the  situation. 


JUSTIN  A.  167 

I  scarcely  even  fancied  this  girl  now  that  I  saw 
her  with  sober  senses.  I  did  not  know  her.  I 
saw  her  seldom,  for  brief  periods,  and  never 
alone ;  for  the  proprieties  were  strictly  observed. 
I  discovered  that  she  was  pleased  by  any  atten- 
tion or  gift  from  me.  I  discovered  a  dulness 
and  irresponsiveness  which  might,  I  thought,  be 
attributable  to  timidity.  I  saw  by  her  bashful 
little  attentions  that  she  was  fond  of  me.  But 
beyond  these  things  I  discovered  nothing.  The 
genuine  kindness  of  the  whole  family,  to  whom 
the  doctors  said  I  owed  my  life,  was  the  thing 
that  made  most  impression  on  me. 

"Justina,  it  is  needless  to  go  into  details  or 
to  enlarge  on  my  weakness.  At  the  end  of  six 
weeks  I  was  married  and  on  my  way  home  with 
my  bride.  I  had  proposed  a  two  years'  engage- 
ment, but  it  was  objected  to ;  I  yielded.  I  was 
married;  and  I  found  that  I  had  been  —  what 
shall  I  say?  —  deceived?  betrayed?  Certainly 
misled.  The  father  and  sisters  certainly  knew 
that  this  girl  should  never  have  been  made  the 
wife  of  any  sane  man  —  of  any  man ;  and  yet 
they  had  given  her  to  me.  The  father  did 
whisper  to  me  before  we  sailed  that  I  would 
find  Caroline  had  some  peculiarities,  and  I  must 
bear  with  them.  I  found  my  wife  a  child  in 
intellect,  at  times  a  fury  in  temper,  a  serpent 
in  cunning,  subject  to  seizures  of  an  epileptic 


1 68  JUSTIN  A. 

nature,  and  more  frequently,  at  that  period,  to 
frightful  paroxysms  of  childish  passion.  It  was 
(and  is)  one  of  those  cases  in  which  the  line 
between  responsibility  and  irresponsibility  is  un- 
defined, which  call  out  pity  and  anger  by  turns. 
Sometimes  I  have  thought  her  the  most  unfortu- 
nate of  mortals  ;  sometimes  I  have  thought  her  the 
most  —  wicked.  Doctors  know  such  cases ;  some 
mothers  know  them ;  and  possibly  some  —  men 
in  my  position.  God  help  them  !  Not  for  a  day, 
not  for  an  hour  could  this  girl  be  a  companion 
for  me.  There  was  no  point  of  contact  between 
our  natures ;  there  never  could  be. 

"  Justina,  this  was  what  I  discovered,  what  I 
knew,  before  I  had  been  a  week  married.  Yet 
I  tried  not  to  acknowledge  it  to  myself;  I  tried 
to  make  the'  best  of  it.  I  spare  you  details. 
But  I  tried  —  I  think  I  may  say  I  tried  faithfully. 
And  sometimes  I  almost  thought  I  should  suc- 
ceed. She  had  affection  for  me.  That  touched 
me  —  it  has  always  touched  me;  and  I  tried  to 
build  upon  that  But  you  cannot  build  on 
treachery  and  mischief.  My  mother  was  angelic 
during  all  those  early  years.  She  nursed  her  in 
her  attacks ;  she  petted  her  so  far  as  it  was  pos- 
sible with  that  most  peculiar  and  uncertain  tem- 
per; she  dressed  her  beautifully,  and  took  her 
with  her  wherever  it  was  fitting;  she  shielded 
her  and  shielded  me. 


JVSTINA.  169 

"  But  it  was  all  vain ;  Nature  was  against  us. 
The  main  disease  increased,  and  the  other  char- 
acteristics were,  if  possible,  intensified.  I  re- 
mained steadily  by  her,  in  what  I  called  my 
home,  for  six  years.  We  had  sent  the  first  year 
for  her  father  and  sisters,  hoping  things  might 
go  more  smoothly  if  they  were  present.  The 
poor  man  I  found  was  deeply  involved  in  money 
troubles,  and  only  too  glad  to  come  home. 
They  were  all  anxious  and  sympathetic  for  me. 
They  had  always  felt  troubled.  But  they  had 
hoped  much  from  her  affection  for  me,  from  the 
change  of  climate  and  the  comforts  of  wealth. 
The  sisters  had  felt  themselves  guilty  in  not 
warning  me,  but  they  had  timidly  followed  the 
lead  of  their  timid  father.  They  had  all  looked 
on  my  offer  as  a  heaven-sent  extrication  from 
their  difficulties.  They  were  weak,  they  were 
wrong;  but  I  never  could  reproach  them,  the 
poor,  spiritless  things. 

"  We  lived  together  —  the  father,  sisters,  and 
myself —  for  six  years,  and  things  grew  worse 
all  the  time.  By  this  time  my  pursuits  gave  me 
occasional  opportunities  of  leaving  home.  I 
now  decided  —  deliberately  —  to  accept  such 
opportunities.  My  life  should  not  be  wasted, 
though  by  one  act  of  sin  I  had  shattered  its 
happiness.  I  established  the  family  in  a  pretty 
place  near  the  English  coast,  within  call  of  her 


I/O  JUSTIN  A. 

favorite  physician  and  not  too  far  from  London, 
for  the  sights  of  which  she  has  always  had  a 
great  fancy.  You  know  the  region,  Justina. 
You  know  now  why  I  left  you  there  that  day  so 
long  ago.  I  made  the  cottage  my  headquarters ; 
but  my  absences  became  more  frequent,  and 
longer.  I  plunged  into  work  and  tried  to  forget 
myself  in  it.  From  the  time  of  my  marriage 
society  had  been  odious  to  me.  Now  I  forswore 
it  entirely.  It  was  better  so.  It  gave  me  a 
vague  pain  to  look  upon  domestic  happiness. 
I  tried  to  forget  that  there  was  such  a  thing  in 
the  world.  The  cottage  on  that  dreary  coast 
has  stood  to  me  for  home  until,  as  you  know, 
my  father's  condition  brought  me  here.  I  have 
thought  it  right  to  be  with  him  in  his  need,  and 
I  have  promised  to  make  this  my  home  during 
his  lifetime.  But  I  still  arrange,  as  I  have  al- 
ways done,  to  return  to  England  once  in  six 
months  for  at  least  a  short  stay.  It  .makes  little 
difference  to  her.  She  is  fond  of  me ;  but  she  is 
often  too  ill  to  be  seen  by  any  one  but  her  regu- 
lar attendants,  she  is  often  irritable  and  suspi- 
cious to  the  last  degree,  she  is  always  uncertain. 
Letters  and  trinkets  are  more  welcome  to  her  than 
my  presence.  But  the  sisters  are  comforted 
by  seeing  me,  and  it  is  right  that  I  should 
go.  The  father  died  some  years  since  in  my 
arms,  blessing  me  and  entreating  me  to  be  faith- 


JUSTINA.  I/I 

ful  to  Caroline  and  the  girls.  I  have  tried  to  be 
faithful." 

He  stopped.  Justina  could  not  speak,  and 
there  was  silence,  broken  only  by  the  crackling 
fire.  His  head  had  been  bowed  during  the  con- 
cluding part  of  the  tale,  and  his  tone  was  sub- 
dued and  even.  But  he  turned  now  to  her  and 
cried  out  bitterly :  "  This  is  my  history.  And, 
Justina,  I  love  you  with  my  whole  being.  What 
shall  I  do?" 

He  rose  and  walked  rapidly  through  the 
room.  He  came  back  to  her  and  looked  down 
into  her  face.  His  eyes  seemed  to  seize  and 
bind  her  fast,  to  compel  her  to  give  some  word 
of  comfort.  "  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  he  asked  again 
fiercely. 

There  was  but  an  instant's  hesitation.  Then 
the  answer  came,  —  low,  steady,  but  almost 
breathless  :  "  Love  me  still,  please." 

The  strong  man  broke  down.  He  sank  on 
the  low  ottoman  at  her  feet.  "  My  love  !  "  he 
cried,  and  he  reached  out  his  hand.  But  he 
drew  it  back  again.  "  Tell  me,  could  you  give 
me,  if  I  had  the  right  to  ask,  what — what  I 
must  not  ask?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered. 

There  was  a  silence,  and  then  passion  mastered 
him  again.  "  O  God  !  to  think  what  that '  yes ' 
might  mean !  " 


1/2  JUSTINA. 

What  could  this  woman  say?  She  loved  him. 
She  would  have  died  then  and  there  if  it  could 
have  procured  him  happiness.  She  gathered 
her  strength  to  answer  him. 

"  It  means,"  she  said, "  that  wherever  your  soul 
stands,  in  whatever  strait  or  trouble,  my  soul 
stands  by  its  side.  It  means  that  you  cannot  be 
alone  any  more ;  that  I  am  there  ready  to  take 
whatever  share  of  your  burden  you  can  lay 
upon  me." 

He  looked  up  with  an  unutterable  look,  and 
again  he  reached  out  that  quick,  grasping  hand ; 
but  drew  it  back  again. 

"  It  means  too,  I  think,"  said  Justina,  now 
trembling  a  little  — "  it  means,  I  believe,  that 
you  are  going  to  teach  me  some  of  your  own 
grand  strength  and  courage." 

A  few  words  more  they  spoke  in  low,  subdued 
tones.  It  was  as  if  they  stood  by  some  freshly 
made,  sacred  grave.  Then  he  went  away  through 
the  wintry  darkness,  and  his  new  secret  lay  like 
a  snow-white  dove  at  his  heart 


XVIII. 

"  IT  is  just  as  I  expected,"  pronounced  Mrs. 
Beverly  Smith.  "  The  old  gentleman  left  noth- 
ing —  nothing  at  all  beyond  the  furniture  of  his 
house.  It  seems  his  income  was  merely  an 
annuity,  ceasing  with  his  death.  His  brothers, 
knowing  what  a  baby  he  was  in  money  matters, 
arranged  it  in  this  way.  And  it  was  well  they 
did;  it  has  made  him  comfortable  all  these 
years." 

"  But  Justina  has  some  income  of  her  own," 
suggested  Mary  Beverly. 

"  Not  much.  She  once  told  me  herself  her 
dividends  were  getting  so  small  she  could  hardly 
see  them.  It  was  little  enough  her  mother  had 
to  begin  with ;  but  they  managed  to  live  on  it 
in  Europe.  People  do  seem  to  live  on  next  to 
nothing  there.  Of  course  it  was  enough  for  the 
girl  alone  while  she  was  at  her  uncle's ;  but  now 
that  he  is  gone,  and  stocks  depreciated  as  they 
are  —  " 

"  Yes,  mother  and  I  know  something  about 
depreciated  stocks,"  said  Mary,  with  a  little  sigh. 


174  JUSTINA. 

"  But  I  have  supposed  Justina  would  marry  after 
her  uncle's  death." 

"  That  is  just  what  she  will  not  do.  She  will 
not  marry  Paul,  at  any  rate ;  and  of  course  there 
is  nobody  else.  No ;  Delia  told  me  that,  before 
she  went  away.  She  said  she  thought  Paul  had 
been  very  fond  of  Justina,  but  he  had  quite  given 
her  up." 

"She  thought?" 

"  Yes,"  laughed  Mrs.  Smith.  "  Delia  has  the 
prettiest  way  of  half  shutting  her  own  eyes,  and 
fancying  that  quite  shuts  other  people's.  How- 
ever, it  is  well  not  to  make  too  much  of  things. 
I  daresay  Paul  did  want  Justina  for  a  wife. 
But  many  a  man  has  been  disappointed  in  his 
first  love,  and  lived  to  be  the  happier  for  it. 
Paul  is  too  much  of  a  man  to  be  crushed  by 
such  a  thing.  I  have  a  very  high  opinion  of 
Paul." 

"  Yes,  Paul  is  a  nice  boy." 

Mrs.  Smith  smiled,  and  changed  the  subject. 

A  few  days  after  this  talk  with  Mary  about 
Justina's  affairs,  she  sent  for  Justina  herself  to 
come  and  take  a  quiet  tea  with  her. 

"  Now,  dear,"  she  said,  after  tea,  when  they 
were  seated  on  the  sofa  together,  "I  will  tell 
you  what  you  are  going  to  do.  You  are  going 
to  come  here  and  make  this  your  home,  and 
rejoice  my  old  heart,  —  yes,  you  are!" 


JUSTIN  A.  175 

"  Oh,  but  my  dear  Mrs.  Smith  !  " 

"  No  !  not  a  word  now !  Not  a  word  for  a 
week  at  least,  —  when  you  have  thought  it  all 
thoroughly  over.  Here  is  my  great  roomy  house 
just  yawning  for  you ;  not  a  chick  nor  a  child 

—  not  a  creature  for  me  to  speak  to  from  morn- 
ing till  night  except  the  girls  and  Joshua.     Just 
think  what  a  comfort   you  would  be   to   me ! 
You    should   have   everything   your   own   way. 
You  could  keep  up  your  music,  and  your  study, 
and  your  Sunday-schools,  and  everything." 

The  grateful  tears  came  to  Justina's  eyes. 
"  You  are  so  good,  dear  Mrs.  Smith,  and 
everybody  is  so  good  !  Berta  and  her  husband 
have  asked  me  to  go  to  them,  and  my  good 
German  friends  —  my  old  Professor  and  his  wife 

—  have  written  begging  me  to  return  to  them." 
"  You  will  surely  not  do  that?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  have  thought  a  little  of 
doing  it ;  it  may  be  better." 

"Leave  Easterly?  Leave  all  your  friends? 
By  no  means.  Tell  me,  dear,  —  you  don't  mind 
telling  me,  —  have  you  so  very  little  to  depend 
on?" 

"  It  is  very  little,  Mrs.  Smith, —  next  to  noth- 
ing, as  you  say.  But  there  is  many  a  poor  girl 
who  has  less  even  than  I.  I  have  these,"  she 
held  out  a  pair  of  shapely  hands,  — "  they  are 
worth  a  good  deal;  and  this."  She  laughed 


176  JUSTIN  A. 

as  she  lightly  touched  her  head,  and  then  lifted 
it  with  graceful  pride. 

Mrs.  Smith  looked  on  and  sighed  the  sigh  of 
the  vexed  and  righteous  woman  who  has  lost 
patience  with  this  contrary  world.  "  You  ought 
to  be  married,"  she  said  with  conviction.  "  You 
ought  to  have  the  opportunities  of  wealth  and 
position.  You  ought  to  be  the  mistress  of  some 
fine  house." 

"  It  is  something  to  be  the  mistress  of  myself," 
answered  Justina  with  gentle  dignity;  "I  hope 
I  shall  be  that —  If  I  can,  if  I  can,"  she  whis- 
pered to  herself  as  she  spoke.  And  later,  when 
she  walked  home  under  Joshua's  convoy,  she 
still  was  saying  to  herself:  "  If  I  can,  if  I  can ! 
Yes,  that  is  what  I  must  be,  if  I  can !  " 

For  Justina  was  going  through  a  great  and 
sore  trial,  one  that  required  all  her  resolution 
and  called  out  all  her  strength.  And  for  days 
she  could  not  tell  which  would  prove  stronger, — 
her  single  will  and  sense  of  right,  or  the  rushing, 
mighty  tide  of  two  human  creatures'  love. 

Rolfe  was  in  England  on  his  half-yearly  visit 
at  the  time  of  Mr.  Wilton's  death.  He  had  de- 
layed his  departure  for  weeks  and  even  months, 
from  reluctance  to  leave  Justina  at  such  a  time. 
But  at  last  he  went.  By  her  help  he  went. 
Though  no  word  had  been  spoken,  she  knew  of 
the  delay  and  she  knew  the  reason. 


JUSTIN  A.  177 

"  When  are  you  going  across  ? "  she  asked 
one  day. 

"  I  believe  I  must  go  soon,"  he  replied.  But 
it  was  a  question  rather  than  a  statement,  and 
he  searched  her  eyes  for  the  answer. 

"  I  believe  you  must,"  she  said  firmly.  Then, 
smiling :  "  It  will  be  good  to  see  you  back  again  ! 
And  I  almost  dare  to  hope  uncle  will  still  be 
here  when  you  come,  just  now  he  is  holding  his 
own  so  well." 

And  so  he  was  strengthened  to  leave  her. 

They  had  spoken  but  once  in  these  months, 
and  that  most  briefly,  of  what  was  now  to 
each  of  them  the  greatest  fact  of  life.  Rolfe 
had  called  one  day  to  bring  some  game  of  his 
own  shooting  for  Mr.  Wilton,  and  was  going 
away.  He  turned  suddenly  back  from  the  door 
and  looked  into  Justina's  eyes.  "Is  it  true?" 
he  asked  in  a  quick  half-whisper.  "Is  it  true? 
Sometimes  I  think  I  have  been  dreaming." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  with  the  smile  which  he 
was  beginning  to  know  as  his  own,  "  it  is  true  — 
forever." 

"  God  bless  you  !  "  he  whispered.  And  then, 
reading  her  face  more  deeply:  "Yes,  I  know,  I 
know  what  your  eyes  mean.  You  are  right. 
We  will  not  speak  about  it.  But  I  think  we 
may  —  we  will  —  know  it." 

They  had  known  it  Every  day  had  had  its 
12 


178  JUSTINA. 

unguessed  joy,  and  the  merest  chance  meeting 
was  a  cup  of  pure  pleasure.  There  was  a  deep 
recognition  in  the  glance,  a  certainty  in  the  tone. 
Life  was  changed,  not  outwardly,  but  at  its 
centre. 

Almost  insensibly  Justina  found  herself  sur- 
rounded by  a  care  and  thoughtfulness  too  silent 
to  be  acknowledged,  too  natural  to  be  met  by 
anything  but  happy  acceptance.  Little  require- 
ments of  her  uncle's  or  her  own  were  anticipated, 
questions  settled  before  they  came  up.  Of 
many  of  the  ways  in  which  her  path  was  made 
smooth  that  winter  she  never  knew  at  all  It 
was  the  man's  impulse  to  pour  out  his  wealth  at 
her  feet,  to  load  her  with  benefits.  This  he 
knew  he  must  not  do;  he  might  not  give  his 
love  substantial  shape.  But  its  spirit  might  sur- 
round her,  and  touch  her  at  every  point.  Flow- 
ers from  the  Rolfe  greenhouses  were  no  novelty 
in  the  Spring  Street  parlors.  But  this  winter 
Justina  noticed,  though  they  were  perhaps  fewer, 
they  were  choicer  and  more  carefully  selected. 
Sometimes  it  would  be  but  a  single  rare  orchid, 
sometimes  a  wealth  of  violets.  "  Yes,  I  cut  them 
myself  now,"  Rolfe  answered  quietly  when  she 
said  one  day  how  beautiful  the  flowers  had  been 
of  late,  and  his  eyes  met  the  springing  pleasure- 
in  hers  with  that  deep  look  which  told  her  all  his 
story  over  again. 


JUSTIN  A.  179 

But  he  had  been  obliged  to  go;  and  when 
her  uncle  died  she  was  left  alone. 

In  May  he  returned.  And  the  woman  who 
loved  him  soon  discovered  a  new  tone  in  his 
voice,  a  new  light  —  less  steady,  but  ah !  how 
much  brighter  —  in  his  eye,  a  restless,  reaching, 
defiant  manner,  not  unknown  to  her,  but  never 
before  so  long  continued.  She  saw  this,  and 
instinctively  she  trembled. 

It  was  impossible  that  the  thought  of  freeing 
himself  from  his  long  bondage,  that  he  might 
accept  this  new  joy,  should  not  have  occurred  to 
John  Rolfe  before  this  time.  The  thought  had 
been  slow  in  coming.  Every  habit  of  his  mind 
for  years  had  been  unfavorable  to  such  a  sug- 
gestion. He  had  considered  himself  as  cut  off 
from  the  ordinary  ties  of  men.  He  had  found 
his  life  and  his  pleasure  in  other  pursuits.  By  na- 
ture his  temperament  was  warm  and  rich,  —  his 
inheritance  from  his  mother.  The  man's  blood 
flowed  hot  and  fast  within  him.  But  he  had 
early  turned  his  strength  into  safe  and  quiet 
channels.  He  had  given  the  ardor  of  his  young 
manhood  to  science.  He  had  lost  his  heart  to 
Nature,  and  she  had  rewarded  him  with  a  meas- 
ure of  peace.  Absorption  in  his  work  and  sat- 
isfaction in  it  had  become  the  fixed  habits  of  his 
life,  and  it  had  seemed  as  if  he  were  to  escape 
without  the  trial  which  might  naturally  have 


180  JUSTIN  A. 

been  expected.  He  was  not  to  escape.  His 
nature  was  to  experience  the  extremest  test.  A 
girl's  clear  eyes,  looking  at  him  through  dark 
lashes,  were  to  try  his  innermost  heart  and  veins. 
"  I  had  a  fight  or  two  with  myself,  even  in  those 
first  days,  on  that  journey,"  he  said  long  after- 
ward to  Justina.  "  I  think  if  I  had  never  seen 
you  again,  I  might  have  conquered  —  and  lost 
the  crown  of  my  life !  " 

When  after  many  struggles  he  yielded  to  the 
force  of  his  love,  this  of  itself  was  sufficient  to 
sustain  him  for  a  time,  and  he  had  no  thought 
beyond.  Then  when  he  found  his  love  returned, 
he  thought  himself  for  many  weeks  humbly  and 
joyfully  content.  For  the  most  part  he  was  so. 

Ah,  but  now !  Now  when  he  might  let  him- 
self believe  that  she  had  need  of  him !  The 
world  was  transformed.  He  cast  all  other  con- 
siderations to  the  wind.  He  dared  to  hope;  and 
in  that  moment  all  was  over  with  him.  He  was 
dizzied,  intoxicated,  beside  himself  with  this  new 
wine. 

Mr.  Rolfe,  who  was  the  best  of  correspond- 
ents, had  written  his  son  the  particulars  of  Mr. 
Wilton's  death  and  the  attendant  circumstances. 
The  niece,  he  said,  was  left  with  little  or  nothing; 
not  even  the  little  house  was  hers*  It  was  un- 
certain what  she  would  do.  There  was  some 
talk  of  her  going  back  to  Europe — she  had 


JUSTIN  A.  I8l 

friends  there  —  or  to  New  York,  where  she  might 
find  pupils.  He  had  called,  and  had  a  long, 
pleasant  visit  with  her.  A  fine  young  woman 
she  was,  he  had  always  thought  so.  She  was 
very  charming  in  her  black  dress,  —  a  little  sad, 
of  course,  and  with  less  than  her  usual  vivacity; 
but  extremely  pleasing.  It  would  be  a  pity  for 
Easterly  to  lose  her.  He  hoped,  for  his  part, 
she  would  not  go  away.  He  wished  there  were 
anything  under  the  sun  he  dared  do  for  her. 
He  had  thought  a  little  of  asking  her  to  copy 
that  Anne  Boleyn  picture  which  hung  on  the 
north  side  of  the  gallery.  Did  John  remember 
the  picture?  He  would  like  to  give  a  copy  of 
it  to  the  high-school.  Did  John  think  it  would 
do  to  ask  Miss  Wilton?  She  painted  really  very 
prettily. 

Rolfe  was  in  London,  with  a  day  or  two  be- 
tween him  and  the  return  trip,  when  he  received 
this  letter.  With  it  crushed  in  one  hand  he 
walked  the  paths  in  St.  James's  Park  so  long  that 
a  policeman  thought  it  well  to  watch  him.  He 
then  went  to  the  cable  office  and  sent  a  message 
to  Justina.  Surely  this  he  might  do.  All  the 
world  might  see  and  hear  his  expression  of  sor- 
row for  his  old  friend,  of  sympathy  for  her. 
"  You  know  how  I  feel  with  you,"  he  wrote. 
"More  when  I  see  you, — the  I5th,  I  hope." 
He  gave  long  study  to  it,  and  he  dared  say  no 


1 82  JUSTINA. 

more.  It  was  his  first  communication  with  her 
except  by  speech ;  and  though  it  was  only  a 
telegram,  he  lingered  with  a  lover's  fondness 
over  the  address  and  the  signature. 

The  next  day,  rendering  himself  blind  and 
deaf,  oblivious  of  every  thought  but  one,  forcing 
from  his  mind  even  the  image  of  Justina,  which 
at  moments  rose  up  pure  and  still  before  him, 
in  the  teeth  of  every  principle  of  his  life,  im- 
pelled only  by  one  wild,  masterful  intent,  he  went 
to  Lincoln's  Inn  and  talked  for  an  hour  with 
a  man  of  law.  He  came  away  from  that  office 
with  the  new  ideas  crystallizing  and  hardening 
in  his  mind.  Now  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  keep 
other  thoughts  and  principles  and  habits  out  of 
the  way,  and  let  these  have  time.  That  he  could 
do.  He  could  still  be  blind  and  deaf,  dazzled 
by  that  hope,  and  wrapped  in  that  one  great 
desire.  "  It  will  be  better  in  America ;  far 
easier,  quicker,  and  better  in  America,"  the  so- 
licitor said.  He  gave  him  addresses  that  would 
be  of  use,  and  he  talked  in  that  technical  and 
business-like  way  which  goes  so  far  toward  mak- 
ing a  shadowy  scheme  seem  real.  Rolfe  began 
to  believe  it  real.  He  resolutely  shut  his  eyes 
and  drugged  himself  with  one  sweet  thought. 

When  he  reached  home  —  it  was  on  the  I5th, 
as  he  had  hoped  —  he  went  almost  immedi- 
ately to  Spring  Street.  The  plain  little  house, 


JUSTIN  A.  183 

the  black-robed  figure  at  the  door  —  they  were 
there,  they  were  real.  It  was  almost  more  than 
he  could  bear.  He  found  himself  terribly  agi- 
tated. All  the  impatient  haste  of  the  last  ten 
days  seemed  concentrated  in  this  moment  when 
he  reached  the  goal. 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  Mary 
Beverly  was  leaving  the  house,  and  the  three 
met  at  the  door.  Justina  looked  up  at  the  tall, 
well-known  form.  She  knew  she  could  not  keep 
the  joy  out  of  her  face.  She  never  knew  how 
Mary  went  away  and  Rolfe  came  in.  She  knew 
she  laid  her  hand  in  his,  and  he  crushed  it 
fiercely  for  an  instant. 

Mary  only  thought,  "  He  was  such  a  good 
friend  of  her  uncle,  —  he  seems  to  feel  it  very 
much,"  and  went  her  way.  Rolfe  scarcely  spoke. 
He  dropped  into  a  chair  in  the  parlor.  He  was 
trembling  violently. 

"  Let  me  get  you  some  water,"  Justina  said, 
and  she  quickly  brought  a  glass.  "  You  have 
been  walking  very  fast." 

"  I  am  a  little  intoxicated  by  —  by  a  thought 
I  had.  Thank  you.  I  shall  do  better  now. 
You  are  —  you  are  sure  you  are  flesh  and 
blood?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  She  laughed  a  low,  happy  laugh, 
and  held  up  that  red  aching  hand. 

Then  she  took  a  low  chair  opposite  him  and 


1 84  JUSTIN  A' 

asked  commonplace  questions  about  the  voyage, 
about  the  weather  and  the  passengers.  She 
went  on  and  told  him  quietly  of  her  uncle's  last 
days,  his  few  messages  and  requests.  He  had 
left  a  book  or  two  and  some  rare  specimens  for 
Rolfe.  The  bulk  of  his  collection  was  to  go  to 
various  schools.  She  would  like  Rolfe's  advice 
about  some  of  the  things.  In  a  few  minutes  he 
was  more  his  natural  self,  asking  questions  and 
offering  suggestions;  and  when  some  one  else 
came  in  to  call,  he  went  away  with  all  conven- 
tional propriety. 


XIX. 

JUSTINA  gave  grateful  thanks  that  night.  To 
be  in  the  same  hemisphere  with  him  once  more  ! 
To  see  his  face  and  hear  his  voice ! 

She  had  been  surrounded  by  kindness.  Though 
Mrs.  Beverly  was  gone,  and  Berta  was  shut  out 
from  her  by  illness  and  the  claims  of  a  young 
baby,  there  had  been  no  lack  of  the  friendliest 
and  most  sympathetic  interest.  Paul,  over  the 
wall  of  reserve  which  had  risen  between  them, 
and  which  he  had  not  yet  learned  to  ignore, 
offered  and  undertook  many  brotherly  offices. 
Everybody  had  been  kind.  Ah,  but  now  Rolfe 
was  come ! 

She  began  to  wonder  how  she  could  live  away 
from  him.  She  had  been  inclined  to  think  it 
best  that  she  should  leave  Easterly.  She  had 
hereafter  her  bread  to  win,  her  place  to  make 
in  the  world,  her  work  to  do,  —  that  work  for 
which  she  had  often  restlessly  wished.  But  now 
she  did  not  know  how  she  could  go  away. 
Must  she  go? 

Just  now  he  puzzled  and  frightened  her.  He 
was  strong  and  helpful  in  many  ways.  He  was 


1 86  JUSTIN  A. 

himself,  and  this  was  always  all  her  heart  could 
wish.  But  that  light  in  his  eye,  that  tone  in  his 
voice,  sometimes  made  her  tremble. 

She  felt  a  little  pained  that  he  did  not  speak 
to  her  of  her  future.  Not  once  had  he  asked  or 
advised  her  as  to  what  she  was  to  do.  She  would 
have  liked  to  talk  of  her  plans  with  him.  It 
would  be  sweeter  to  do  what  he  approved.  In- 
deed, she  could  not  think  of  herself  as  doing 
what  he  did  not  approve.  Probably,  she  con- 
cluded, he,  too,  thought  it  would  be  well  for  her 
to  go.  He,  too,  was  pained  by  the  necessity. 
And  that  was  why  he  did  not  speak.  The  first 
day  he  had  ascertained  that  she  was  not  to  leave 
the  house  for  some  months,  and  that  her  arrange- 
ments would  remain  in  abeyance  for  a  time. 
Since  that  he  had  said  no  word. 

The  truth  was,  Rolfe  had  more  than  once 
come  to  her  with  the  intention  of  speaking  of 
that  which  was  in  his  heart.  But  he  had  not  yet 
found  the  right  time.  Something  in  her  eyes 
baffled  him.  He  found  himself  strangely  dumb 
before  her. 

It  was  a  fierce  and  strenuous  existence  he  was 
leading.  He  was  obliged  to  submit  to  things 
from  which  his  soul  revolted.  He  went  to  cer- 
tain lawyers  in  the  city,  and  every  time  he  went 
he  savagely  crushed  in  the  grasp  of  an  iron  will 
a  hundred  of  the  finer  fibres  of  his  nature.  How 


JUSTIN  A.  187 

he  loathed  these  men  and  their  trade  and  their 
shameless,  flippant  talk  !  More  than  once  he  had 
much  ado  to  keep  himself  from  knocking  down 
a  certain  one  of  them.  That  he  should  be  forced 
to  take  his  Justina  from  such  hands  as  these ! 

There  remained  another  difficult  task,  —  the 
informing  his  father  of  his  design.  He  had  no 
doubt  of  the  courtly  old  man's  complaisance 
when  the  matter  was  settled.  He  knew  how 
easily  general  principles  accommodate  them- 
selves to  exceptional  cases.  But  he  would  not 
work  in  secret,  and  explanation  was  odious.  The 
elder's  airy  obliviousness  of  all  the  facts  would 
make  a  full  explanation  necessary.  Mr.  Rolfe 
speculated  sometimes  vaguely  about  John.  He 
remembered  perfectly  well  that  sad  affair,  and 
Rachel's  grief  over  her  first-born  son.  But  he 
supposed  things  had  settled  themselves  by  this 
time.  Things  always  do  settle  themselves. 
There  was  some  talk  at  one  time,  he  remem- 
bered, about  an  asylum.  He  had  the  impression 
that  was  what  was  decided  upon.  The  matter 
had  been  disposed  of,  at  any  rate ;  and  having 
been  disposed  of,  of  course  there  was  nothing 
further  to  think  about.  Sometimes  he  felt  a 
stirring  of  curiosity  as  to  what  had  become  of 
poor  Caroline.  But  on  principle  he  avoided 
disagreeable  topics,  and  besides  he  was  always 
a  little  afraid  of  John. 


1 88  JUSTINA. 

The  day  came  when  Rolfe  spoke  to  Justina. 
In  some  incidental  and  quite  unintentional  way 
she  had  spoken  of  Germany.  "  If  I  am  there 
next  year  —  "  she  said. 

In  an  instant  he  was  by  her  side.  "  My  child  ! 
my  Justina !  You  will  not  be  in  Germany  next 
year.  You  will  not  be  there,  —  that  is,  unless 
you  wish.  You  shall  be  where  you  will,  sweet ! 
You  will  be  with  me.  Before  that  time  I  hope 
to  offer  you  your  rightful  place.  We  shall  always 
be  together  then.  Think  what  that  will  be ! 
You  will  come  to  me,  my  own,  my  love  ?  " 

His  words  came  low  and  fast.  His  dark  face 
glowed.  His  breath  was  hot  upon  her  cheek. 
The  solid  earth  whirled  with  joy  as  they  looked 
into  one  another's  eyes,  and  felt  what  it  would 
be  to  be  always  together. 

She  loved  him  better  than  her  life.  What 
could  she  do?  What  could  she  say  when  he 
poured  these  words  and  others  like  them  into 
her  willing  ear? 

Dizzy  and  faint,  she  sank  in  the  corner  of  the 
old  sofa.  How  the  sun  struck  across  the  green 
grass  out  of  the  window  and  hurt  her  eyes ! 
How  that  picture  of  the  yard  and  the  fence  and 
the  dull,  narrow  street  remained  photographed 
on  her  mind  from  that  moment! 

"But  we  must  not,"  she  moaned;  "oh,  we 
must  not !  " 


JUSTIN  A.  189 

That  was  the  beginning  of  the  struggle,  and 
it  lasted  many  days.  It  lasted  many  days,  and 
she  loved  him  better  every  day.  Sometimes  her 
woman's  heart  failed  her.  That  she  should  live 
to  feel  the  weight  of  his  anger !  That  she 
should  see  him  at  her  feet  begging  for  that 
which  her  heart  was  breaking  to  give  !  All  the 
heights  and  depths  of  the  man's  nature  lay 
opened  before  her  in  those  days,  —  the  noble 
heights,  the  surging,  hungry  depths.  And  she 
loved  him  better  every  day. 

"  We  must  not !  "  he  would  cry  fiercely.  "  By 
what  law  must  we  not?  Who  says  we  must  not? 
We  stand  here  mated  before  God.  Who  dares 
say  that  this  is  wrong  ? " 

"  Oh,"  she  answered,  when  she  could  find 
words  to  speak,  "  I  cannot  say  that  this  is  wrong. 
I  know  the  other  is  right.  You  have  been  so 
right !  You  have  been  so  strong  and  true ! 
How  can  I  bear  that  because  you  love  me  you 
should  be  less  strong? —  It  is  I  who  ought  to 
help,"  she  said  to  herself,  trembling,  "to  help 
him,  and  not  to  hinder  him.  I  must  be  true  to 
him.  My  love  must  be  strong  and  high.  If  it 
can  reach  up  to  where  he  stands !  If  it  can 
stand  there  with  him  in  his  strength !  " 

"But  let  us  be  reasonable,"  again  he  would 
argue.  "  We  are  not  alone  in  this  matter. 
There  will  always  be  —  there  must  be  —  these 


190  JUSTIN  A. 

exceptional  cases  of  great  difficulty  and  pain- 
fulness.  We  have  high  authority  for  setting 
aside  general  principles,  for  setting  aside  even 
legal  enactments.  And  that,  my  child,  I  do  not 
ask  you  to  do." 

"  We  have  higher  authority,"  she  said  sol- 
emnly, "  for  fulfilling  all  righteousness,  for  suf- 
fering it  to  be  so  now,  for  cutting  off  the  right 
hand  and  plucking  out  the  right  eye  if  need  be. 
Oh,  let  us  not  dare  unsettle  ourselves  !  Let  us 
not  dare  lose  hold  of  what  we  know  to  be 
right !  " 

"  But  Justina,  my  sweet,"  he  said  low  one 
morning,  "  you  said  you  loved  me  !  I  was  not 
mistaken?  It  is  true?  It  was  only  a  whisper, 
but  your  eyes  said  it  too,  and  your  eyes  are 
true.  Where  is  your  love  for  me  now?  Do  you 
love  me  no  longer?" 

Ah !  this  was  the  sharpest  thrust  of  all.  If 
only  she  dared  love  him  less !  If  only  she 
might  yield  to  the  tenderness  that  flooded  her 
soul !  If  she  might  cast  herself  into  his  arms 
and  never  think  again  ! 

Then  tall,  proud,  and  stern,  he  stood  up  over 
her.  He  looked  into  her  eyes,  his  own  darting 
thunderbolts.  "  I  have  a  tremendous  will,  Jus- 
tina. Do  you  know  it?  Do  not  try  to  resist 
me." 

The  woman  gazed  back  undaunted.     "  I  know 


JUSTINA.  191 

you  have  a  tremendous  will,"  she  answered. 
"  You  have  a  magnificent  will.  Without  it  you 
could  not  have  lived  the  life  you  have  lived. 
You  could  not  have  been  what  you  are  to  me. 
If  you  knew  how  proud  of  you  I  am  !  " 

Her  smile,  her  sweet  looks  fed  his  heart. 
His  hunger  was  appeased,  his  anger  quieted. 
But  it  could  not  be  forever.  Another  day  came, 
and  the  hunger  came  with  it. 

"Justina,"  he  cried  out  fiercely,  "you  have 
no  sympathy.  Look  at  me.  I  want  you.  I  am 
not  a  statue,  I  am  not  a  saint ;  I  am  a  man !  " 

His  eyes  seized  and  bound  her  fast  for  a 
moment.  Then  he  turned  with  a  low,  dreadful 
mutter,  and  paced  the  room.  The  woman  who 
loved  him  watched  him  as  he  went.  Thus  far 
she  had  not  failed  to  meet  his  mood.  Thus  far 
she  had  always  stretched  out  her  quiet  hand, 
and  in  his  most  desperate  moments  he  had 
grasped  it  and  steadied  himself  by  it.  What 
could  she  do  now?  She  trembled  before  him. 
All  the  weight  of  his  anger  lay  upon  her.  There 
were  long,  terrible  moments,  heavy  with  his 
displeasure.  But  her  spirit  rose  once  more. 
Her  womanhood  rose,  and  dared  him  face  to 
face. 

"  John,"  she  said,  touching  his  arm  as  he  came 
toward  her,  and  compelling  his  eye  to  hers 
while  the  beautiful  color  rose  and  spread  like 


192  JUSTINA. 

dawn  over  her  cheek  and  neck,  "  John,  I  am  a 
woman.  I  was  created  for  you.  Can  you  sup- 
pose that  I  do  not  want  you  ?  " 

The  lion  within  him  was  tamed.  An  ineffa- 
ble tenderness  and  reverence  took  possession 
of  him.  He  came  and  sat  by  her  side,  and  the 
long  silence  of  satisfied  love  fell  upon  them. 

"Dear,"  he  said  after  a  time,  beginning  quietly 
and  solemnly,  "  this  is  a  law  of  nature,  a  law 
of  God.  We  must  be  together.  We  will  try 
not  to  be  rash,  nor  inconsiderate.  But  —  ah! 
your  heart  does  cry  out  for  me,  as  mine  cries 
out  for  you !  "  Hope  leaped  into  his  eyes  once 
more,  warmth  into  his  bronzed  cheek. 

"  If  it  were  only  for  ourselves,"  she  answered. 
"  If  we  lived  in  a  world  by  ourselves.  But  in 
this  world  we  must  not  please  ourselves.  It 
seems  to  me  that  is  what  we  must  remember. 
For  the  sake  of  others  we  must  suffer.  Do  you 
remember  what  you  have  told  me  about  order 
and  law  in  the  universe?  —  how  sometimes  for 
the  good  of  all  the  law  must  hurt  in  particulars, 
how  the  individual  must  suffer,  must  be  crushed, 
must  die?  It  seems  to  me  we  are  in  a  place 
like  that,  and  that  we  must  just  stand  still  and 
let  ourselves  be  crushed.  I  remember  so  well 
the  strong,  true  words  you  have  said.  You  are 
so  wise  and  strong,  so  much  wiser  and  stronger 
than  I.  And  it  is  from  you  than  I  have  learned 


JUSTIN  A.  193 

to  think  so  much  of  keeping  close  to  principle 
and  law.  You  have  been  so  true  to  what  is 
right!  I  have  been  growing  old  fast,  too,  the 
past  few  years,  and  I  have  seen  something  of 
life.  I  have  seen  something  of  the  mischiefs  of 
carelessness  about — about  this  tremendous  fact. 
Oh,  it  is  an  awful  thing !  But  a  promise  which 
is  made  for  life,  must  it  not  be  kept  through 
life?" 

"  But,  my  child,"  he  said  at  last,  "  what  can 
you  be  to  me,  then?  What  may  I  be  to  you?" 

"  I  will  be,"  she  answered,  with  her  smile  and 
that  sweet  color  springing  again  to  her  face, 
"  I  will  be  to  you  what  you  call  me, — your  love. 
Oh,  nothing  can  prevent  my  being  that !  And 
you  can  never  get  out  of  the  reach  of  my  love. 
It  will  go  with  you  always  and  everywhere. 
And  you  will  be  to  me  the  inspiration  of  my 
life,  the  very  object  and  aim  of  it,  —  my  teacher 
and  protector  and  friend  !  " 

"  Ah,  child !  it  will  be  a  hard  fight.  I  have 
been  fighting  now  for  years.  I  am  not  a  Saint 
Michael,  Justina.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  can 
always  keep  it  up." 

Her  heart  broke  for  him.  She  could  have 
thrown  herself  into  his  arms  and  begged  him 
never  to  let  her  go.  She  looked  up  into  his 
rugged  face.  She  lifted  her  hand  and  dared 

oo 

softly  to  brush  away  a  gray  lock  from  his  temple. 
13 


194  JUSTIN  A. 

"  You  have  kept  up  a  glorious  fight  and  won  it ! 
Oh,  if  you  knew  how  I  honor  you  !  "  That  was 
what  she  said  in  answer.  She  did  not  say  it  all 
in  words,  but  her  eyes  said  it,  her  proud  looks 
said  it,  and  her  utter  trust.  And  his  soul  was 
lifted  up  once  more. 

"  Justina,  I  will  try,  dear.  I  will  try,  and  you 
shall  be  my  confessor." 

In  his  heart  he  knew  that  she  was  right.  In 
his  heart  he  knew  that  if  he  gained  all  he  asked, 
it  would  be  at  the  price  of  this  most  precious 
thing,  —  this  look  of  absolute  trust  in  those 
pure  eyes. 


XX. 

A  WOMAN'S  victories  are  not  lightly  gained. 
The  girl  who  lay  with  closed  but  sleepless  eyes 
for  the  next  few  days  and  nights,  with  throbbing 
head  and  faint,  sick  heart,  did  not  look  or  feel 
much  like  a  victor.  It  was  well  that  Rolfe  was 
obliged  to  be  away  in  attendance  on  his  father, 
and  that  the  house  was  for  the  most  part  undis- 
turbed by  visitors.  Hannah's  tea  and  toast  and 
occasional  household  questions  were  all  that 
broke  the  empty  silence.  She  seemed  to  herself 
to  be  tasting  of  death.  She  had  thrown  away 
life.  She  had  entered  on  blankness,  emptiness, 
and  gnawing  want.  And  it  stretched  out  before 
her  endlessly. 

There  was  only  one  landmark  in  all  the  dreary 
waste,  and  that  she  could  by  no  means  always 
keep  in  view.  The  strong  tower  of  right,  by 
which  she  had  tried  to  guide  her  course,  —  some- 
times she  thought  even  that  was  a  mirage,  a 
delusion.  It  shifted  and  was  lost.  It  was  ob- 
scured by  the  clouds  of  heaven  and  by  the  dust 
of  earth.  She  wandered  helplessly  and  hope- 
lessly, as  one  who  had  lost  her  way. 


196  JUSTINA. 

Perhaps  a  drop  of  comfort  might  have  come 
to  Justina's  heart  if  she  could  have  heard  a  con- 
versation on  the  porch  of  an  English  cottage 
during  one  of  those  evenings.  Two  gray-haired, 
joyless  women  were  talking  together  in  low 
tones. 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,"  said  one,  "  that 
John  could  do  such  a  thing  as  to  try  to  free 
himself?" 

"  Sister !  No ;  what  has  put  such  a  thought 
in  your  head?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Something  in  his  manner 
the  last  time  he  was  at  home.  He  seemed  to 
me  abstracted  and  troubled.  Yet  he  looked 
younger,  and  somehow  more  like  other  people ; 
and  he  never  was  more  gentle.  I  don't  know ; 
it  came  into  my  head,  that  is  all." 

"  No,  Mary,  I  don't  believe  he  ever  thought 
of  such  a  thing;  he  is  the  best  man  in  the 
world." 

"  Yes,  he  is  the  best  man  in  the  world.  But 
I  have  been  thinking  about  it  Perhaps  it  would 
be  right  for  him.  It  has  been  very  hard  for  him 
always.  And  this  last  time  it  seemed  worse  than 
ever." 

"  It  is  hard  for  us  all.  No,  Mary,  I  don't  be- 
lieve he  would  do  such  a  thing ;  he  is  too  kind. 
It  would  kill  Caroline ;  and  he  has  always  been 
so  good  to  her." 


JUSTIN  A.  197 

"I  hope  not,"  answered  the  other,  shudder- 
ing ;  "  it  would  kill  all  of  us.  I  only  thought  of 
it." 

But  Justina  did  not  hear  this  conversation. 
She  heard  and  she  saw  nothing  but  her  own  dull 
heart-beats  and  her  own  ghost-like  life  stretch- 
ing out  before  her  endlessly.  At  times  like  this 
life  must  be  lived  alone.  Instinctively  this  hurt 
creature  turned  from  human  faces.  Out  under 
the  open  sky  she  would  go.  Infinity  might  rest 
her  heart.  She  hired  a  neighbor's  old  horse 
and  carriage,  and  drove  away  alone  'day  after 
day.  She  was  not  sorry  that  Rolfe  himself  re- 
mained absent  longer  than  he  had  expected. 
A  line  came  from  him  explaining  his  detention. 
Ah  !  always  hereafter  the  lightest  movement  of 
the  one  would  be  of  moment  to  the  other.  There 
was  no  breaking  of  that  bond.  Their  lives, 
united  at  the  core,  must  inevitably  henceforth 
coincide  at  many  points.  Yet  they  must  be 
kept  apart.  What  a  problem  for  a  man  and 
woman  to  face! 

There  were  practical  questions  confronting 
Justina  to-day, — the  same  old  practical  ques- 
tions. This  love  and  joy,  though  it  had  enriched 
her  life  forever,  had  not,  as  with  most  women, 
swept  away  uncertainties  and  settled  the  future. 
She  still  stood  alone  just  where  she  had  stood 
before. 


198  JUSTIN  A. 

Rolfe,  meanwhile,  was  looking  at  things  some- 
what differently.  He  had  readjusted  his  mind 
to  the  situation,  and  accepted  it,  for  the  present, 
at  least,  as  fixed.  A  man's  will  cannot  stand 
before  a  woman's  sovereign  power  of  choice. 
In  her  hands  the  question  must  really  lie.  Jus- 
tina  had  decided.  For  the  present,  at  least,  her 
decision  must  be  his  law.  He  bent  his  mind, 
the  struggle  over  for  the  time,  to  accepting  the 
case  as  it  stood.  And  now  he  was  forming  his 
plans  on  this  new  basis,  —  large,  manly  plans, 
like  his  large,  manly  nature.  He  came  to  Jus- 
tina  the  evening  after  his  return,  and  the  rest  and 
almost  content  she  read  in  his  face  did  her  heart 
good.  His  manner  to  her  had  all  a  lover's  ten- 
derness, with  a  touch  of  reverence  and  reserve 
that  made  it  perfect. 

"  It  is  time  to  settle  things,"  he  said.  "  We 
must  have  a  little  practical  talk."  His  smile 
was  pure  sunshine,  and  brought  to  her  mind 
that  far-away  day  on  the  steamer's  deck.  "  We 
must  have  a  little  home  for  you,  you  know. 
And  it  shall  be  in  Easterly,  shall  it  not? 
You  will  not  wish  to  go  away  now?  We 
must  be  near  one  another.  I  must  not  see  you 
every  day,  I  suppose,  but  we  can  meet  often. 
We  can  know  how  things  are  going  with  one 
another,  and  I  can  be  with  you  in  any  need. 
There  is  a  pretty  spot  of  ground  on  the  new 


JUSTIN  A.  199 

avenue.  I  wish  we  might  build  a  little  house  for 
you  there,  —  a  little  cosey  nest,  all  suited  to  your 
mind.  But  I  fear  that  might  be  unwise.  Still, 
there  are  other  things  that  can  be  done.  Tell 
me,  dear,  where  shall  it  be?  How  shall  it  be?" 

Justina  quite  broke  down.  She  was  but  a 
woman,  she  could  not  keep  back  the  rushing 
tears.  All  the  pitifulness  of  it  swept  over  her 
afresh  in  one  great  wave,  —  the  sweetness  of  his 
protecting  love,  the  bitterness  of  the  inevitable 
repression.  She  wept,  poor  child,  as  she  had 
not  wept  in  all  these  days  of  conflict. 

Rolfe  was  beside  himself  with  discomfiture. 
He  had  never  seen  her  crying,  —  his  strong  Jus- 
tina. What  had  he  done?  What  had  he  said 
in  his  awkwardness?  He  begged  her,  in  a  man's 
helpless  way,  to  dry  her  tears,  to  be  comforted. 
And  every  time  he  spoke,  the  broken,  troubled, 
tender  voice  renewed  her  grief. 

"  Dearest,"  he  said,  "  perhaps  I  was  abrupt. 
You  cannot  doubt  that  I  see  we  must  be  prudent. 
The  whole  world  might  look  upon  our  love,  it 
is  no  shamefaced  thing.  Yet  I  know  we  must 
be  prudent.  And  for  your  sake  —  for  your  sake 
alone — I  submit  to  the  necessity.  Confound 
these  conventionalities  !  Confound  the  Easterly 
tongues!" 

They  laughed  together,  and  it  did  them  both 
good. 


200  JUSTINA. 

"  We  will  be  careful,"  he  went  on.  "  But  it  is 
quite  unnecessary  for  you  to  render  an  account 
of  your  affairs  to  Easterly.  All  these  details 
can  be  managed  quietly  and  easily.  It  is  my 
love's  right  and  privilege  to  provide  for  you ; 
but  it  shall  be  carefully  done,  and  it  shall  be 
done  where  and  as  you  will." 

The  tears  were  again  not  far  distant ;  but  this 
time  she  brushed  them  brightly  away.  "  For- 
give my  crying ;  I  am  going  to  be  good  now, 
if  you  will  let  me !  You  must  not  say  such  — 
such  dear  things  any  more!" 

He  started  toward  her,  ready  to  say  more. 

"No!  it  is  my  turn,"  she  said,  putting  up  a 
warning  hand.  "  I  have  not  answered  you 
yet." 

"  I  am  answered ;  there  is  no  question." 

"  You  know  it  would  not  do  for  me  to  have 
a  life  that  is  too  easy ;  it  is  better  for  me  to  face 
the  every-day,  humdrum  practicalities.  I  am 
not  accustomed  to  luxury." 

"  You  shall  be,  then,  —  if  I  can  compass  it !  " 

"  It  would  be  very  bad  for  me  to  have  nothing 
to  do.  Work  is  the  best  tonic.  Don't  you 
know  how  you  have  told  me  what  work  has  been 
to  you?  How  could  I  live  here  idle  and  useless? 
You  would  not  ask  it  of  me." 

He  was  watching  her  now  intently  and  nar- 
rowly. He  heaved  a  deep,  long,  pitiful  sigh. 


JUSTIN  A.  201 

"  Give  me  all  you  can,  Justina,"  he  said.  "  It 
must  be  as  you  will,  but  give  me  all  you  can." 

"  You  must  let  me  think  about  it,  please,"  she 
answered  sweetly.  Her  light  sigh  echoed  his, 
but  she  essayed  at  the  same  moment  a  healing 
smile.  "  I  can't  think  to-day ;  I  'm  a  little  con- 
fused. To-morrow,  if  you  can,  come." 

When  he  called  the  next  day  for  his  answer, 
Justina  came  running  downstairs  quite  radiant. 
It  was  a  soft,  sweet  summer  morning.  She  wore 
a  white  gown,  and  at  her  belt  were  pinned  a 
cluster  of  pansies  of  Rolfe's  own  cutting.  He 
rose,  and  took  in  both  his  the  hand  she  ex- 
tended as  she  came  swiftly  toward  him.  He 
had  a  way  of  holding  her  hand  lightly  and  ten- 
derly, as  one  holds  a  flower,  and  then  releasing 
it  with  gentle  care.  She  was  happy  this  morn- 
ing. She  had  come  to  a  decision  which  brought 
joy  to  her  heart.  She  was  going  to  give  him 
all  she  could.  She  had  spent  many  hours  on 
her  problem,  and  settled  some  points  decisively. 
What  he  had  said  was  true.  His  love  did  give 
him  some  rights.  Her  love  was  in  itself  to  some 
extent  an  obligation.  She  would  give  him  just 
as  much  as  she  could.  She  would  give  him,  if 
possible,  so  much  that  he  would  not  be  hungry 
for  more.  She  resolved  to  tell  him  first  what 
she  had  to  give;  then  perhaps  he  would  not 
miss  so  much  what  was  withheld. 


202  JUSTIN  A. 

"  I  am  going  to  stay  in  Easterly,"  she  said 
with  her  smile.  What  man  could  think  it  a 
light  boon,  —  this  gracious,  womanly  presence, 
these  ungrudged  charms? 

"  Bless  you,  my  love !  oh,  bless  you !  "  He 
found  it  was  more  than  he  had  hoped. 

Tears  sprang  to  her  eyes  at  his  gratitude  and 
humility.  "  Do  you  think  I  could  go  away  from 
you  unless  I  must?"  she  whispered.  "No,  I 
am  going  to  stay  here  for  the  present,  —  so  long 
as  we  both  think  it  best  Other  things  will  settle 
themselves.  How  good  it  will  be  to  have  you 
always  at  hand  to  advise  and  help  me !  You 
will  not  mind  my  doing  any  —  any  honest 
work," —  he  groaned,  but  she  went  blithely  on,  — 
"  and  I  promise  you,  if  ever  I  am  in  need,  I  will 
come  to  you  and  ask  you  for  just  what  I  want." 

"  Thank  you  for  that     You  promise?  " 

"  Yes,  I  promise.  You  will  protect  me  from 
the  Easterly  tongues,  and  we  will  see  one  an- 
other as  often  as  we  can.  We  must  have  no 
secrets,  dear  John,  excepting  the  great  one,  no 
notes,  and  —  forgive  me  —  no  more  of  these 
elegant  presents,  must  we?  It  is  n't  best,  though 
I  love  them  every  one." 

She  glanced  about  the  room  at  the  rich  cam- 
el's-hair  wrap  on  the  lounge,  and  several  costly 
ornaments.  These  things  had  been  showering 
upon  her  since  the  day  of  his  return. 


JUSTIN  A.  203 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  he  said.  "  But  — 
but  I  refuse  to  be  bound  in  this  matter." 

She  laughed  a  low,  happy  laugh.  "  You  will 
be  careful  for  my  sake." 

"  Yes,  I  will  be  careful." 

Before  he  went  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  tiny 
box.  "This  is  not  a  present,"  he  said.  "This 
is  a  ring  of  my  mother  which  she  left  for  me,  — 
this  single,  simple  pearl.  I  want  to  ask  you  to 
keep  it  for  me  now,  and  look  at  it  sometimes. 
I  often  think  how  my  mother  would  have  loved 
you,  my  Justina ;  how  dear  you  would  have  been 
to  one  another." 

"  I  shall  always  love  your  mother.  Yes,  I  will 
keep  the  ring.  I  will  look  at  it —  " 

"  Often,  love  ?  —  and  perhaps  say  a  little  prayer 
forme?" 

"  That  will  be  every  day." 

They  looked  down  on  the  little  symbol  through 
dim  eyes  a  few  minutes.  Then  he  took  her  face 
between  his  hands,  lightly  touched  her  forehead 
with  his  lips,  and  went  away. 


XXI. 

Now,  how  to  perform  this  thing  she  had  prom- 
ised !  She  would  stay  in  Easterly.  But  where, 
and  how?  The  little  house  —  her  uncle's  house 
so  long  —  she  had  already  more  than  once  ex- 
hibited to  possible  tenants.  It  might  be  required 
at  any  time,  and  at  best  she  must  leave  it  soon. 
And  what  was  that  work  of  which  she  had  talked 
so  bravely?  Two  or  three  girls  wished  to  take 
lessons  on  the  harp.  Beyond  that  nothing  at 
present  appeared. 

She  took  her  hat  that  afternoon.  "  Come, 
Fidele,  let  us  go  and  see  Berta." 

But  Berta  was  out.  Making  calls?  —  this 
warm  afternoon,  and  a  six- weeks -old  baby  in 
the  cradle? 

How  should  Justina  guess  that  these  visits 
were  undertaken  for  the  purpose  of  dropping 
here  and  there  a  certain  little  remark  ?  "  Yes,  it 
is  a  great  task  for  Miss  Wilton,"  — this  was  the 
remark,  —  "  but  fortunately  her  uncle  left  the 
collections  of  specimens  to  Mr.  John  Rolfe's 
superintendence,  and  his  help  is  invaluable  in 
arranging  and  sending  them  away." 


JUSTIN  A.  205 

"  I  hear  he  has  been  there  constantly,"  was 
the  usual  answer,  unless,  indeed,  something  sim- 
ilar had  preceded  Mrs.  Beverly's  words  and 
given  her  excuse  for  them.  For  the  Easterly 
tongues  had  begun  their  work,  and  Berta  found 
she  did  not  make  her  calls  a  day  too  soon. 

Mrs.  Beverly  Smith  had  before  this  sent  a 
note  to  Justina,  begging  for  an  interview.  And 
failing  to  find  Berta  to-day,  Justina  kept  on  to 
that  lady's  house. 

"  I  could  not  come  before,  Mrs.  Smith ;  I 
have  been  occupied." 

"  Yes  dear,"  Mrs.  Smith  answered,  slowly  and 
absently.  She  was  thinking  how  she  should 
begin  what  she  was  going  to  say. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  almost  ready  to  leave 
your  house?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  am  working  toward  that,"  said 
Justina,  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  when  you  are  out  of  it;  you 
ought  not  to  live  there  alone." 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  fears  !     Hannah  is  a  host." 

"  But  you  are  too  young.  It  —  it  is  n't  quite 
the  thing,  you  know  —  without  another  lady." 

Justina  was  silent. 

"  You  have  been  there  alone  nearly  two  months 
now  —  since  your  uncle  died." 

"  Yes,  it  is  nearly  two  months  —  Time  goes, 
however  heavy-footed,"  Justina  thought. 


206  JUSTIN  A. 

"  My  dear,  I  really  feel  that  I  ought  to  speak 
to  you.  I  don't  think  you  realize  — "  Mrs. 
Smith  paused  in  embarrassment  and  vexation. 
She  never  had  believed  in  this  system  of  bring- 
ing up  girls  in  Europe.  She  had  always  thought 
it  a  mistake,  Sarah  Wilton's  taking  this  child 
abroad.  It  gave  girls  all  sorts  of  erratic  notions. 
A  great  deal  was  said  about  European  pro- 
priety. For  her  part,  she  thought  European 
impropriety  was  much  more  conspicuous.  And 
living  abroad  made  American  girls  feel  their 
independence.  Justina  had  but  one  fault,  —  she 
was  too  independent. 

"  My  dear,  you  know  how  fond  of  you  I  am. 
I  really  think  I  ought  to  warn  you,  since  you 
will  not  come  here  and  live  with  me.  You  know 
people  will  talk.  And  I  hear  that  Mr.  John 
Rolfe  has  been  at  your  house  nearly  every  day 
since  he  came  back." 

The  quick  color  flashed  into  the  girl's  face. 
This  fact  —  this  name  —  to  her  were  sacred.  But 
she  recovered  herself,  and  saw  that  it  was  wise 
to  admit  the  truth.  With  bold,  clear  eyes  she 
did  so. 

"  I  daresay,"  pursued  Mrs.  Smith,  somewhat 
falteringly,  though  she  had  not  lost  sight  of 
that  blush  —  "I  daresay  it  has  been  for  the 
purpose  of  helping  with  the  minerals  and  things. 
I  have  told  people  so." 


JUSTINA.  207 

"  He  has  helped  me  a  great  deal." 

"But  people  will  talk,  you  know,  and  a 
young  girl  must  be  careful.  John  Rolfe  is  so  — 
so  peculiar.  And  you  know,  I  suppose,  that  he 
is  a  married  man?  " 

"  Yes,"  gasped  Justina. 

"  In  such  a  case  one  can't  be  too  careful.  Of 
course  it  is  all  right,  but  people  will  talk. 
There  was  some  story  about  a  camel's-hair 
shawl.  Mrs.  Brown,  who  came  over  on  the 
steamer  with  him,  you  know,  saw  it  at  your 
house,  and  declared  she  recognized  it  as  one 
John  Rolfe  had  at  the  custom-house.  It  was  a 
peculiar  pattern,  and  there  was  some  mark  or 
other  which  made  her  sure  of  it.  I  told  her  it 
must  be  a  mistake.  I  defended  you,  my  dear. 
I  told  her  you  and  your  mother  had  lived  years 
in  Europe,  and  it  was  in  all  probability  some- 
thing you  had  picked  up  there,  and  in  your 
breaking  up  and  packing  it  had  come  to  light." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Smith;  you  have  always 
been  so  kind.  I  think  it  is  to  you  I  owe  my 
four  enthusiastic  harp-pupils." 

"  No,  indeed,  that  is  your  own  doing.  That 
is  because  you  have  bewitched  us  all  by  your 
harp-playing,  as  your  mother  did  before  you. 
But,  my  dear,  —  about  that  shawl !  Surely  you 
are  not  vexed?  Surely  I  did  right?  I  feel 
such  an  interest  in  you,  my  child." 


208  JUSTINA. 

"You  are  as  kind  as  you  can  be,  Mrs.  Smith. 
Thank  you  again,  and  good-bye.  When  shall 
I  send  you  the  wallflower-roots  from  uncle's 
garden?" 

That  unlucky  camel's-hair  shawl !  Yet,  in 
spite  of  vexation,  Justina  could  not  help  a  smile 
and  a  warm  glow  at  her  heart  at  the  reference 
to  it  It  had  been  one  of  the  earliest  of  those 
gifts,  and  its  elegance  and  richness  were  so 
great  that  she  could  not  take  it  without  remon- 
strance. "  But,  my  dear  —  man !  It  is  so  far 
too  fine !  I  never  can  wear  such  a  thing,  you 
know  —  never !  " 

"  Don't  wear  it,  then.  Make  a  coverlet  of  it ; 
it  is  soft  and  light  enough.  Wrap  yourself  in  it 
when  you  lounge  here  with  your  book ;  "  and 
Rolfe  tossed  it  on  the  old  sofa  with  a  man's 
sublime  extravagance.  It  was  a  few  moments 
later  that  Mrs.  Brown  had  found  it  there,  and 
very  industriously  had  she  pursued  her  investi- 
gations while  she  was  waiting  for  Miss  Wilton  to 
appear. 

Justina  smiled  in  the  midst  of  her  heartache 
when  she  thought  of  these  incidents.  When 
she  reached  home  there  was  another  thing  to 
smile  about.  A  letter  from  her  old  German 
professor  had  come  by  the  afternoon  mail.  She 
opened  it  and  read  as  follows :  — 


JUSTINA.  209 

WELL-BELOVED  JUSTINA,  —  I  cannot  express  to  you 
the  sorrow  that  you  will  not  come.  I  write  not  of  that, 
however,  in  this  moment.  I  am  since  a  few  days  con- 
cerned of  two  young  maidens  who  will  go  to  America. 
Can  you  tell  me  a  good  and  convenable  school  ? 

The  father  is  German,  the  mother  American  who 
died  in  the  last  month  in  my  house.  She  wished  their 
going  to  America  to  be  educated  in  her  homeland. 
With  her  death  the  father  lost  the  last  tie  of  his  family. 
He  is  indifferent  of  the  little  maids.  He  suffers  a 
disease  on  his  spine,  and  goes  always  to  different  places 
for  cures.  There  is  money  plenty.  The  girls  shall  go 
soon.  They  are  eleven  and  twelve,  and  they  give  no 
trouble  for  their  health.  Write  me  all  what  you  think 
well  for  them.  We  send  you  all  our  old  love. 
Hochachtungsvoll, 

VON  Z. 

Justina  read  the  letter  with  that  mixture  of 
tenderness  and  amusement  which  this  good 
man's  letters  always  called  up.  She  gave  a 
listless  thought  or  two  to  the  little  girls,  and 
told  herself  that  she  would  make  inquiries  to- 
morrow. 


XXII. 

IN  the  night  an  inspiration  came  to  Miss 
Wilton.  She  would  take  care  of  these  little 
girls  herself, — why  not?  Could  she  not  fur- 
nish the  essentials  of  a  "  good  and  convenable  " 
school? 

Sleep  fled  at  the  thought,  the  stars  looked  in, 
twinkling  among  the  branches,  and  she  lay  with 
wide-open  eyes,  her  mind  leaping  from  point  to 
point  of  the  new  plan  till  every  detail  lay  mapped 
out  before  her.  Why  was  not  this  the  solution 
of  her  most  immediate  problem,  the  heaven- 
sent provision  for  some  of  her  keenest  needs? 
Her  heart  was  aching  for  some  one  to  whom  she 
could  show  tenderness.  She  could  love  these 
little  motherless  girls ;  and  they  would  make  a 
home  for  her.  The  boarding  or  visiting  toward 
which  she  saw  herself  tending  was  intolerable  to 
her.  With  them  perhaps  she  might  remain  in 
the  dear  plain  Spring  Street  house,  which  she 
loved  with  all  her  heart,  for  here  the  richness  of 
her  life  had  come  to  her.  She  could  have  her 
own  little  home,  her  "  cosey  nest,"  if  only  now 


JUSTIN  A.  211 

she  could  give  these  little  girls  as  much  as  she 
should  gain  from  them ;  and  after  careful  and 
searching  thought  she  believed  she  could. 

In  another  eight  weeks  all  was  arranged.  The 
children  had  come,  with  their  long  yellow  braids 
and  their  round  faces.  Two  commonplace  little 
mortals  they  proved  to  be  as  years  went  by. 
But  Justina  could  love  them,  and  when  they 
were  women  themselves  they  knew  how  well  they 
loved  her.  Easterly  had  commented,  advised, 
approved  and  disapproved,  seen  the  children  at 
church,  and  accepted  the  situation.  The  little 
home  was  established,  and  took  its  place  among 
the  things  that  were.  Perhaps  it  was  presump- 
tion. Who  ever  heard  of  a  single  woman  of 
twenty-five  setting  up  housekeeping,  above  all 
in  this  simple,  ordinary  way?  If  it  had  been  an 
institution  —  ah,  that  was  different !  American 
girls  are  capable  of  anything  in  the  way  of  sys- 
tems or  organizations.  But  just  a  common, 
every-day  house  !  Justina  could  not  help  it.  It 
was  simply  an  outgrowth  of  herself.  Her  wo- 
manhood, though  repressed  at  its  strongest  point, 
was  not  to  be  denied  some  common  rights.  It 
asserted  always  and  everywhere  its  claim  to 
domesticity.  The  little  Spring  Street  house,  so 
soon  as  she  came  to  it,  had  begun  to  take  on 
airs  of  ease  and  comfort.  And  now  becoming 
more  distinctively  hers,  it  grew  naturally  in  time, 


212  JUSTIN  A. 

by  a  twig  here  and  a  shred  there,  into  that 
very  cosey  nest  which  Rolfe's  loving  imagination 
had  pictured  for  her. 

It  was  far  from  the  traditional  Easterly  estab- 
lishment, and  perhaps  as  far  from  the  modern 
haunt  of  bric-a-brac  and  virtu.  A  frugal  luxury, 
substantial  comforts,  good  servants,  good  food, 
solid  and  rather  ugly  furniture,  some  device, 
some  contrivance  for  every  conceivable  neces- 
sity, —  this  was  the  ideal  of  old  Easterly  Hill. 
Mrs.  Beverly  Smith's  consciousness  of  appli- 
ances for  every  disaster  or  vicissitude,  of  crutches 
and  warming-pans  in  the  garret,  of  apple-parers 
and  apple-corers  and  apple-slicers  for  Thanks- 
giving, of  sewing-society  coffeepots  and  teapots, 
and  baskets  large  and  small,  covered  and  uncov- 
ered, for  picnics  and  charities,  —  this  conscious- 
ness amounted  almost  to  a  good  conscience,  and 
kept  that  lady  in  a  state  of  easy  tranquillity. 
What  did  she  want  of  scented  woods  in  her  fire- 
place, of  India  shawls  hanging  from  easels,  of  a 
dozen  tedious  courses  at  a  dinner,  and  all  her 
rich  and  spotless  linen  shaken  out  in  the  faces 
of  her  guests  three  times  a  day?  The  India 
shawls  and  the  napkins  were  in  their  proper 
places  ready  for  use  when  they  were  needed. 
It  is  luxury  enough  for  your  born  New  Eng- 
lander  to  be  equipped  for  life's  emergencies 
and  to  know  it.  Justina  had  in  her  something 


JUSTIN  A.  213 

responsive  to  the  old  theory,  and  something 
responsive  to  the  new  one ;  and  holding  closely 
to  neither,  she  reached  a  very  charming  result. 

Rolfe  watched  this  experiment  intently,  with 
variable  feelings.  He  was  not  superior  to  a 
jealous  pang  when  he  first  saw  Justina  with  these 
children  by  her  side.  Yet  he  took  comfort  in 
her  content.  He  rejoiced  in  everything  that 
brought  a  smile  to  her  face.  Wherever  he  could, 
he  helped ;  and  the  little  girls  came  to  look  upon 
this  tall  gentleman,  who  appeared  at  irregular 
intervals  and  in  unexpected  places,  and  from 
whom  the  flowers  came  every  morning,  as  upon 
a  benevolent  uncle  of  the  story-book  order. 

But  Rolfe  and  Justina,  early  warned,  soon 
learned  great  circumspection.  They  allowed 
themselves  nothing  clandestine.  For  each 
other's  sake  they  could  deny  themselves  even 
each  other.  He  took  his  chances  with  other 
visitors,  and  they  plucked  their  pleasures  where 
they  could,  in  the  mere  fact  of  being  together, 
in  "  those  brief  little  words,  more  smiled  than 
spoken,"  on  which  the  hapless  Italian  lovers  fed. 

In  a  year  or  two  Justina  re-established  her 
Thursday  evenings,  and  largely  for  Rolfe's  sake. 
It  must  be  confessed  that  these  assemblies  never 
again  quite  attained  the  prestige  of  those  early 
days  when  Mrs.  Beverly  and  the  senior  Mr. 
Rolfe  lent  them  a  courtly  charm.  They  were 


214  JUSTIN  A. 

in  some  danger  of  degenerating  into  mere  gath- 
erings of  boys  and  girls.  Yet  Berta  and  Ray- 
mond, Paul  and  Mary,  and  other  wise  and 
cordial  people  were  glad  from  time  to  time  to 
join  the  informal  circle  about  Miss  Wilton's  fire 
and  sip  her  notable  chocolate.  It  remained  an 
ideal  of  charming  hospitality  in  the  minds  of  the 
little  girls  and  of  many  of  the  Easterly  young 
people,  —  this  graceful  hostess  in  her  soft  white 
dress,  scattering  pleasant  words  about  her,  pre- 
siding over  the  delicate  cups,  or  sitting  at  harp 
or  piano  to  furnish  still  choicer  dainties.  Ah ! 
she  knew  for  whom  often  and  often  she  sang,  — 
not  for  this  room  full  of  indifferent  or  applaud- 
ing people,  but  for  one  lonely  listener  who  dared 
not  stand  by  her  side,  who  she  knew  loved  every 
tone  of  her  voice,  and  was  soothed  by  it.  She 
read  Rolfe's  mood  at  a  glance ;  and  when  she 
could  meet  it  or  master  it,  she  counted  herself 
a  happy  woman.  Thank  Heaven,  it  often  takes 
but  a  word  or  a  look  to  uplift  our  neighbor's  soul ! 
Sometimes  he  would  sit  by  her  at  the  table  and 
drop  the  sugar  into  the  cups ;  and  though  they 
exchanged  scarcely  a  word  during  the  entire 
evening,  she  would  know  that  he  went  away 
content.  She  blessed  the  children  and  young 
Wilkins,  who  was  fond  of  staying  late,  and  under 
cover  of  whose  opaqueness  they  had  many  a 
familiar  talk. 


JUSTINA.  215 

"  What  is  this  magic  circle  from  which  I  am 
excluded?  "  Rolfe  asked,  coming  up  to  a  corner 
where  she  sat  with  a  party  of  young  people 
about  to  begin  a  game.  She  looked  up,  and 
recognized  in  an  instant  the  starved,  hard  look 
in  his  eyes. 

"  The  magic  circle,"  she  answered  quickly, 
"  has  been  incomplete  till  this  moment.  It  is 
now  about  to  render  itself  complete  —  invincible 
—  by  the  reception  of  Mr.  Rolfe."  (Cheers 
from  the  younger  young  people.)  "  Every  new 
member  is  to  sit  here,"  and  she  made  a  place  by 
her  side,  "  and  to  do  exactly  as  I  bid  him." 

"  I  am  your  servant,"  he  said,  taking  the  place 
with  a  grateful  glance.  And  half  an  hour  of 
nonsense  and  free,  cheerful  intercourse  brought 
back  a  natural  feeling  to  his  heart. 

At  such  times,  when  he  went  away  light- 
hearted,  with  her  sweet  laughter  or  her  song 
ringing  in  his  ears,  she  sat  at  home  and  could  be 
thankful.  She  had  filled  his  cup  for  the  time, 
and  he  was  satisfied.  "  It  is  well,"  she  would 
say.  "  How  glad  I  am  !  oh,  I  hope  it  will  last 
him  for  many  a  day !  "  But  she  put  out  the 
parlor  lights  one  after  another,  and  sometimes 
her  smiles  and  sparkles  seemed  to  go  out  with 
them;  she  would  sink  into  the  solitary  chair 
before  her  fire,  and  her  heart  would  cry  out  in 
its  loneliness. 


216  JUSTIN  A. 

"  Do  you  know  you  have  never  been  in  my 
house?  "  Rolfe  said  to  her  one  day. 

With  all  the  rest  of  Easterly,  she  had  been  in 
the  gallery  and  in  the  greenhouses;  but  she 
would  not  grieve  him  by  saying  that. 

"  You  do  me  the  honor  to  come  always  to 
me,"  was  what  she  answered,  with  a  proud,  sweet 
look ;  and  his  pained  expression  gave  place  to 
a  smile. 

"Will  you  come  if  I  have  a  reception  for 
these  spelling  reformers  who  are  to  invade 
Easterly  next  week?  Fatherwould  be  delighted, 
though  he  cannot  stir  from  his  chair;  and  if  you 
will  come,  I  will  propose  it  to  him." 

Justina  reflected  a  moment.  She  could  go 
with  Berta  and  Raymond,  who  were  often  her 
guardians  on  such  occasions. 

"  Yes ;  I  will  come." 

"Thank  you.  Then  look  out  for  the  most 
brilliant  social  event  of  the  season,  and  two  col- 
umns in  the  '  Daily.'  " 

"  In  the  reformed  orthography." 

When  the  evening  came,  beautifully  dressed, 
with  glowing  roses  at  her  bosom,  she  crossed 
his  threshold  for  the  first  time.  He  stood  at  the 
door  of  the  great  drawing-room,  nervously  ex- 
pectant till  she  was  actually  within,  and  took  her 
at  once  to  his  father. 

"  Miss  Wilton !     It  does  an  old  man's  eyes 


JUSTINA.  217 

good !  "  exclaimed  that  veteran  from  his  chair. 
"  Sit  down  here  by  my  side,  and  let  me  look  at 
you." 

She  made  her  smile  and  her  words  as  light  as 
she  could.  But  her  heart  was  full;  for  John 
stood  up  over  her,  proud,  defiant,  and  yet  well- 
pleased,  and  quite  forgetful  of  his  duties  for  the 
moment. 

"  Think  what  an  occasion  this  is  to  me ! " 
went  on  Mr.  Rolfe.  "  Think  what  a  concession 
from  my  recluse  of  a  son !  —  all  his  own  notion, 
too,  that  is  the  wonder  of  it.  Let  me  tell  you  a 
secret,  Miss  Wilton,  —  John  is  growing  more  civ- 
ilized every  day  of  his  life.  And  he  always  was 
a  capital  fellow." 

Later  in  the  evening,  having  conscientiously 
presented  to  Justina  reformer  after  reformer, 
Rolfe  sought  her  out  in  a  corner  of  the  library. 
"  Now,  Miss  Wilton  (if  Professor  Buchstaben 
will  excuse  me),  may  I  show  you  something  in 
another  room?" 

He  boldly  bore  her  off  across  a  corner  of  the 
conservatory,  beneath  a  portiere,  along  a  pas- 
sage, and  into  a  quiet  room  dimly  lighted  and 
not  open  to  the  evening's  guests.  "  This  is  my 
study,"  he  said.  "  I  should  like  to  have  you  sit 
here  a  little  if  you  will,  — just  a  moment  at  my 
desk,  and  then  at  the  fireside  awhile.  I  will 
come  again  soon ;  I  must  go  back  at  once  now." 


218  JUSTIN  A. 

She  could  only  give  him  a  smile,  and  he  was 
gone.  She  sat  down  at  the  desk  as  he  had 
asked,  and  looked  about  the  well-appointed, 
characteristic  apartment.  Here  she  was,  in  his 
most  familiar  place,  alone.  The  sounds  came 
dulled  through  the  other  rooms  and  the  passage. 
The  music,  in  a  distant  wing  of  the  picture- 
gallery,  furnished  an  undertone  of  richness  and 
joy.  Now  and  then  she  caught  light  remarks 
of  admiration  or  bits  of  flirtation  from  the  near 
corner  of  the  conservatory.  She  sat  here  in  the 
heart  of  his  home,  alone.  "  I  must  go  back  at 
once,"  he  had  said,  with  that  acceptance  of 
things  as  they  were  which  was  so  strong,  and 
which  yet  for  a  moment  seemed  to  her,  poor 
child,  almost  too  ready.  But  if  he  had  not  had 
the  readiness,  she  knew  she  must  have  had  it. 
She  drew  a  bit  of  paper  to  her,  and  wrote  the 
date  across  it  with  his  pen.  Then  she  went  and 
sat  by  the  fire.  She  recognized  with  a  bound 
of  her  heart  how  he  had  done  all  this  for  this 
one  little  end.  The  guests,  the  music,  the  gayety 
and  brilliancy,  were  all  in  order  that  she  might 
sit  a  few  minutes  by  his  fireside. 

It  was  not  many  minutes  before  she  heard  his 
step.  He  came  in  quickly,  and  sat  down  oppo- 
site her.  She  looked  up  with  a  smile,  and  inter- 
preting his  feeling  perfectly,  she  did  not  stir  or 
speak,  but  sat  on  in  a  familiar,  restful  attitude, 


JUSTIN  A.  219 

far  back  in  the  light  easy-chair.  His  manner 
was  quickness  and  deliberation  combined.  He 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  have  thus  much  of 
happiness,  and  he  was  taking  it.  But  it  must 
not  be  too  long.  He  looked  at  her  in  silence 
with  eyes  of  deep  content  for  some  minutes ;  and 
her  glance,  homelike  and  familiar,  rested  first  on 
him,  then  on  the  fire  and  the  cheerful  room.  It 
was  a  deep  delight  to  her,  this  half-hour  in  his 
room ;  but,  womanlike,  she  thought  of  what  it 
was  to  him.  How  glad  she  was  she  could  give 
it  to  him ! 


XXIII. 

NOT  many  months  after  this  brilliant  evening 
Mr.  St.  John  Rolfe  suddenly  died.  And  then 
there  came  to  John  a  renewal  of  the  problems 
of  his  life.  There  was  now  no  sufficient  ground 
for  his  remaining  in  Easterly.  Fate,  which  had 
inexorably  fixed  him  here,  now  cruelly  and 
suddenly  turned  and  pointed  him  in  the  oppo- 
site direction.  The  place  once  intolerable  as 
the  scene  of  bitter  and  hopeless  struggle  had 
become  inexpressibly  dear  to  him.  How  could 
he  leave  it  now?  As  he  roamed  about  its  hills 
he  could  look  down  upon  that  little  house 
"  where  his  beloved  was  at  rest."  From  time 
to  time  he  could  see  her,  his  inspiration  to  all 
that  was  good.  He  would  still  try  to  do  right, 
God  help  him  1  But  how  could  he  do  right 
away  from  her? 

He  could  not  juggle  himself  into  the  belief 
that  Easterly  needed  him,  or  that  the  estate 
needed  his  constant  personal  supervision.  Nor, 
on  the  other  hand,  could  he  feel  himself  forced 
to  a  complete  return  to  his  former  mode  of  life. 
He  could  not  completely  return  to  it.  Here 


JUSTINA.  221 

lay  his  true  life,  his  one  object,  in  some  degree 
his  duties.  Such  love  as  this  comes  not  without 
its  obligations.  To  this  girl  who  had  given  him 
her  heart,  the  freshness  of  her  lovely  woman- 
hood, he  surely  owed  something,  he  owed  all 
that  he  might  give.  So  he  reasoned  as  he  went, 
and  came,  and  saw  her  from  day  to  day  on  the 
street  or  in  her  little  home.  And  the  woman 
who  loved  him  looked  on  and  knew  his  struggle, 
and  at  last  found  courage  and  opportunity  to 
speak. 

"  You  must  settle  your  life  now  as  if  I  did 
not  exist." 

"  Ah,  but  you  do  exist !  " 

"  You  cannot  feel  as  you  would  if  I  did  not 
exist,  but  you  can  act  as  you  would.  It  is  the 
only  way,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  should  be  obliged  to  come  here  sometimes 
if  you  did  not  exist,"  he  said,  evading  the  point. 

"  Then  we  will  be  thankful  for  that." 

In  effect,  he  tried  to  act  upon  her  counsel. 
He  knew  it  was  right.  He  gave  the  strength  of 
his  manhood  to  holding  himself  steadily  in  his 
difficult  place,  and  it  was  no  light  expenditure 
of  strength.  Easterly  formed  a  variety  of  plans 
for  him  which  were  one  by  one  confounded  by 
his  actual  movements.  He  eased  his  conscience 
by  return  to  his  old  headquarters.  He  eased 
his  heart  by  irregular  and  unexpected  appear- 


222  JUSTINA. 

ances  at  home.  Now  he  had  a  home,  and  it  was 
the  small  New  England  town  of  which  he  had 
been  wont  to  think  but  lightly. 

For  both  him  and  Justina  it  was  a  difficult 
life,  the  life  of  these  years.  Once  more  she 
found  him  at  her  feet.  "  It  is  useless,"  he  cried ; 
"  we  cannot  keep  this  up."  And  herself  faint 
at  heart,  she  yet  could  answer,  "  We  can  keep 
on  trying."  It  was  a  difficult  life,  but  they 
lived  it.  Each  had  that  best,  most  merciful 
gift  of  Heaven,  —  work  to  do,  —  and  each  had 
strength  to  do  it  with  patience  and  with  enthu- 
siasm. Great  happiness  having  been  foregone, 
the  little  happinesses  came,  —  daily  rewards  and 
pleasures.  Not  very  valuable  in  themselves, 
these  things  count  up  fast,  and  surprise  us  some- 
times with  accumulated  wealth.  Successes  came 
to  John  Rolfe,  fresh  honors;  and  now  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  they  were  dear  to  him. 
With  such  things  the  years  were  filled.  Yet 
many  were  the  days  when  such  things  were  as 
though  they  were  not. 

Justina  sat,  one  dull,  late  October  afternoon, 
on  a  stone  in  the  edge  of  a  field,  and  looked  off 
toward  the  mountains.  She  had  come  out 
alone  for  what  the  girls  called  one  of  her  "  little 
thinks  in  the  field." 

More  and  more  as  she  grew  older  she  loved 
to  be  out  of  doors.  Under  the  open  sky  was 


JUSTINA.  223 

rest  and  peace.     "What  is  it?"  she  had  said 
to  Rolfe  once;  "what  is  it?     Is  it  the  infinity  — 
the  boundlessness?" 

"  I  think  it  is  the  infinity,  yes,*  he  answered,  — 
"the  infinity  and  the  harmony  which  infinity 
means.  Under  the  sky  you  can  feel  the  plan 
and  order  and  peace  which  are  at  the  back  of 
everything.  You  may  perhaps  have  strength 
to  believe  it  elsewhere,  but  you  can't  always 
hold  up  your  head  with  the  sense  of  it.  Here 
it  is  easier  to  do  that." 

This  harmony,  this  central  calm  amid  the 
clash  of  worlds,  peace  and  order  back  of  dis- 
aster and  mistake,  —  more  and  more  she  knew 
this  to  be  the  conviction  of  his  experience  and 
of  his  research.  And  more  and  more  it  became 
her  conviction.  But,  as  he  had  said,  they  could 
not  always  feel  all  they  believed.  When  tumults 
are  too  near,  they  drown  the  eternal  calm.  The 
beating  of  one  human  heart  is  sometimes  enough 
to  fill  the  silence.  To-day  she  sat  alone  and 
looked  off  toward  the  near  low  hills.  They  lay 
in  settled  shadow.  The  sky  was  colorless. 
She  crossed  the  field  where  the  gray,  dry,  fra- 
grant everlasting  bent  before  her,  "sweetest 
when  it's  dying,"  —  for,  spite  of  its  name,  it 
does  die  and  lose  all  its  grace  and  fairness  if 
not  gathered  at  the  right  time.  The  whole 
visible  universe  seemed  void  of  cheer  —  not 


224  JUSTIN  A. 

stormy,  but  empty.  So  her  life  looked  to  her 
to-day.  She  remembered  the  days  when  she 
looked  forward  and  asked  herself  what  her  life 
would  bring.  Now  her  life  had  come. 

She  went  home  and  found  the  girls  gayly 
setting  out  cups  and  saucers  and  decorating 
the  rooms  with  chrysanthemums.  It  was  a 
Thursday  evening.  She  smiled  a  little  faintly 
upon  their  pleasure.  But  when  evening  came 
her  smile  became  suddenly  brighter.  The  first 
bell-pull  had  a  familiar  force,  and  the  step  in 
the  hall  was  quick  and  strong.  Could  it  be? 
The  girls  peeped,  then  shouted,  then  ran  to 
the  hall,  Justina  following.  It  was  Mr.  Rolfe, 
and  as  usual  with  his  pockets  full  of  presents. 
For  him  it  was  an  hour  that  he  had  waited  for. 
It  had  been  in  his  thoughts  and  in  his  dreams 
for  months,  —  the  time  when  he  should  stand 
once  more  in  that  little  simple  parlor.  They 
allowed  themselves  letters,  —  such  as  all  the 
world  might  see;  but  these  were  infrequent 
and  unsatisfactory.  The  briefest  of  them  was 
dear  to  him,  but  it  was  herself  that  he  longed 
for,  —  her  face  and  her  voice.  Through  the  even- 
ing he  was  at  her  side  as  much  as  possible. 
But  the  rooms  were  full,  the  demands  on  the 
hostess  were  many.  At  last  he  caught  her  for 
a  little  in  a  quiet  corner.  She  answered  his 
volley  of  questions,  and  then  went  on  to  tell 


JUSTIN  A.  225 

him  some  of  the  minor  happenings  of  these 
long  months.  He  looked  at  her  as  if  he  could 
never  see  enough.  His  eye  was  caught  by  a 
delicate  embroidered  vine  on  the  trimming  of 
her  gown.  The  tendrils  crept  up  and  were  lost 
in  the  lace  about  her  neck.  How  fair  and 
goodly  was  the  neck  that  rose  from  this  soft 
mass  of  ruffle  and  lace !  How  familiar  those 
curves  of  the  chin  and  cheek !  How  dear  to  him 
the  shell-like  ear  and  the  little  brown  lock  that 
was  always  swaying  about  it !  The  curves  were 
less  round  than  when  he  had  first  known  them, 
the  color  a  little  less  delicate;  but  he  loved 
them  only  the  more.  He  heard  her  voice  going 
on  like  music,  but  he  thought  only  of  what  she 
was  to  him.  She  ceased  speaking,  and  he  missed 
the  music.  Then  he  looked  up  as  far  as  her 
eyes.  "  Forgive  me,"  he  said,  while  the  passion- 
ate pain  leaped  to  his  forehead  and  struggled 
with  the  smile  which  he  forced  upon  himself. 
"  Forgive  me,  but  I  do  not  know  a  word  you 
have  been  saying." 

Such  were  some  of  the  days  of  these  years 
to  this  man  and  this  woman.  Yet  they  lived 
.them. 


XXIV. 

MY  VERY  DEAR  DELIA,  —  It  is  quite  impossible  to 
realize  that  seven  years  have  passed  since  you  left  us. 
But  such  Berta  tells  me  is  the  fact,  and  so  I  am  com- 
pelled to  believe  when  I  reckon  up  the  time  and 
remember  all  that  has  happened.  Are  you  not  getting 
impatient  to  see  us?  We  are  to  see  you.  But  I  sup- 
pose since  you  have  become  such  a  pattern  of  the 
domestic  virtues,  we  shall  not  be  gratified  till  a  new 
Administration  comes  in,  and  Mr.  Beverly  is  sent  home. 
The  children  and  grandchildren  are  all  coming  on  as 
well  as  possible,  notwithstanding  your  absence.  Berta's 
three  little  girls  are  only  less  lovely  than  herself.  Every- 
body was  so  delighted  about  Paul  and  Mary.  Do  you 
know  I  foresaw  it  long  ago  ? 

The  rest  of  Easterly  jogs  on  as  usual.  We  still  miss 
Mr.  Rolfe  on  all  sides.  John  comes  and  goes  —  goes 
chiefly.  He  has  done  some  things  for  Easterly, — very 
sensible  things.  He  has  extended  and  beautified  the 
park  and  increased  the  endowment  of  the  library,  so 
that  now  we  can  have  more  bo"oks  and  support  a  com- 
petent librarian.  He  is  up  to  the  times,  and  some 
people  think  beyond  them,  in  his  notions  about  tene- 
ment-houses. But  John  Rolfe  never  will  be  the  man 
his  father  was  in  the  matter  of  public  spirit,  and  cer- 


JUSTINA.  227 

tainly  not  socially.  When  he  is  here  he  dutifully  calls 
on  everybody  once  around.  But  he  goes  nowhere  fa- 
miliarly, unless  it  is  to  Justina  Wilton's.  That  friend- 
ship continues  in  a  mild  form,  though  anything  special 
seems  to  have  blown  over  long  ago.  At  one  time 
it  did  look  decidedly  peculiar,  and  I  never  yet  have 
quite  understood  about  that  camel's-hair  shawl.  There 
could  n't  have  been  anything  serious  in  the  thing,  how- 
ever, for  there  is  no  reason  under  Heaven,  in  these  days, 
why  two  people  should  not  get  together  if  they  wish. 
That  wife  of  his,  from  all  accounts,  could  easily  be 
proved  "  non  compos." 

As  for  Justina,  I  daresay,  you  hear  from  her  and 
know  how  she  is  going  on.  I  still  think  it  was  a  great 
mistake  for  her  to  take  the  step  she  did.  She  would 
much  better  have  come  to  me.  She  has  quite  settled 
down  to  middle  life,  keeping  house  with  those  two 
stupid  girls  of  hers,  — whom  she  indulges  quite  too  much, 
by  the  way.  There  was  no  reason  why  she  should 
make  an  old  woman  of  herself  before  her  time,  and  I 
told  her  so.  There  seems  to  be  no  prospect  of  her 
marrying.  She  has  refused  two  offers  to  my  certain 
knowledge,  excellent  offers,  —  one  from  a  Professor 
Buchstaben,  and  one  from  Charles  Raymond,  one  of 
the  Beverly  Raymonds,  you  know.  Either  of  these  men 
could  have  given  her  just  the  position  she  ought  to 
have.  I  wish  she  were  not  so  independent.  Still,  one 
never  could  help  loving  the  child.  And  she  has  im- 
proved in  these  years.  You  know  there  was  a  time 
when  we  thought  she  was  growing  to  be  disagreeably 
positive,  and  she  seemed  likely  to  rush  off  into  causes 


228  JUSTINA. 

and  things.  But  she  is  wonderfully  softened,  and 
thoroughly  womanly  and  sweet  and  humble.  Only  a 
few  months  ago,  at  the  time  of  the  Atkins  scandal,  she 
said  to  me  when  I  asked  her  opinion  :  "  Mrs.  Smith,  I 
haven't  an  opinion.  I  think  none  of  us  can  judge. 
I  think  none  of  us  knows  his  neighbor's  life."  She 
quoted  you  in  the  same  conversation,  —  something  you 
once  said  about  not  trying  to  right  all  the  wrongs 
of  the  world,  but  doing  as  well  as  we  can  just  where 
we  are. 

So  you  see,  you  wise  woman,  how  your  words  are 
remembered  among  us.  We  all  miss  you,  my  dear, 
and  long  to  see  you  again ;  none  more  than 

Your  affectionate  cousin, 

M.  R.  BEVERLY  SMITH. 

Mrs.  Smith  said  quite  truly  that  everybody 
was  delighted  about  Paul  and  Mary.  Paul 
apparently  had  inherited  some  of  his  mother's 
genius  for  the  next  best  thing.  One  day,  rather 
to  his  own  surprise  as  well  as  to  that  of  others, 
he  did  what  nobody  had  done  before,  —  he  discov- 
ered Mary  Beverly  the  nicest  girl  in  the  world. 

"  But,  Paul,"  said  Mary  when  he  came  to  talk 
to  her  about  it, "  you  have  known  me  all  my  life. 
I  am  only  Mary  Beverly.  It  isn't  in  the  least 
romantic." 

Paul  beamed  upon  her  as  if  nothing  could  be 
so  charming  as  this  statement  of  facts. 

"  And,  Paul,  I  am  older  than  you  are." 


JUSTIN  A.  229 

"Yes,"  anwered  Paul,  a  shade  of  annoyance 
crossing  his  handsome  face, "  I  am  sorry  I  could 
not  have  arranged  to  be  born  two  years  earlier. 
You  have  the  start  of  me.  How  shall  I  catch 
up  with  you,  my  Atalanta?  What  can  I  offer 
that  is  worth  your  stopping  to  pick  up?  " 

And  the  nicest  girl  in  the  world  answered 
softly :  "  I  am  not  sure  but  yourself  will  be 
enough,  Paul." 

On  the  same  spring  day  when  Mrs.  Smith 
was  writting  her  letter,  a  company  of  young 
people  and  some  elders  were  having  a  picnic  at 
the  Falls.  Justina's  girls  had  had  small  diffi- 
culty in  persuading  Mr.  Rolfe,  who  was  then  in 
town,  to  join  the  party,  and  he  was  now  telling 
them  wonderful  tales  as  they  all  sat  on  the  broad 
flat  rocks  at  the  foot  of  the  cataract,  looking  up 
in  the  face  of  the  mad,  rushing  waters.  After 
luncheon,  bent,  as  usual,  on  exploration,  Rolfe 
crossed  the  stream,  stepping  from  stone  to  stone, 
and  clambered  up  on  the  other  side  to  a  point 
above  the  fall,  from  whence  he  waved  greetings 
to  the  delighted  young  people.  An  almost  in- 
accessible point  it  seemed  from  below,  — certainly 
one  not  likely  to  be  lightly  ventured  on.  But 
after  a  time  he  came  back,  stopping  here  and 
there  to  improve  the  way  by  a  different  disposi- 
tion of  logs  or  stones,  and  boldly  proposed  to 
Miss  Wilton  to  try  the  ascent  Justina  joined  in 


230  JUSTIN  A. 

the  laughing  exclamations  of  the  company,  and 
measured  the  height  with  her  glance.  But  of 
course  she  went.  She  would  have  gone  with 
him  up  the  face  of  any  precipice  in  the  world. 
And  they  came  out  safely  on  the  grassy  table- 
land at  the  top  and  looked  down  upon  their 
envious  friends. 

"There!"  said  Rolfe  with  satisfaction,  "I 
fancy  we  are  secure  for  a  time.  What  an  ac- 
commodating roar  !  '  Rage,  you  cataracts,  and 
hurricanes,  spout!'  I  want  to  talk  to  you, 
Justina,  and  I  have  been  waiting  six  days  for 
a  chance." 

"  I  have  been  waiting  as  long  to  say  some- 
thing to  you.  But  first  let  us  take  breath,  and 
think  how  beautiful  this  is." 

"  It  is  beautiful,"  he  said  with  a  deep,  restful 
sigh.  "  It  is  beautiful,  sitting  here  together." 
He  looked  up  and  about  him,  and  then  back  to 
her  happy  face. 

"  Uncle  used  to  say  he  had  a  trace  of  the  wild 
Indian  in  his  blood,  and  I  sometimes  think  it  is 
beginning  to  assert  itself  in  mine.  I  could  live 
here  always  —  under  the  sky." 

It  was  not  only  the  wild  Indian.  Well  this 
woman  knew  what  influence  had  been  at  work 
upon  her,  who  it  was  that  had  taught  her  to 
find  something  beautiful  in  every  creature,  and 
helped  her  to  recognize  the  throb  of  life,  the 


JUSTIN  A.  23 1 

pulse  of  law,  through  all  the  great,  wonderful 
whole.  This  was  what  she  went  on  to  think. 
But  he  was  thinking  of  her  words. 

"  If  you  and  I  were  alone  under  the  sky !  "  he 
said.  His  face  lighted  with  a  sudden  glow ;  but 
he  checked  himself,  he  would  not  mar  her  happy 
mood.  "  It  is  beautiful  sitting  here  together," 
he  repeated.  He  smiled  into  her  smiling  eyes. 
But  smile  as  he  might,  she  could  not  help  seeing, 
as  she  watched  him  during  that  hour  together, 
the  deepening  traces  of  his  conflict,  the  wear 
and  tear  of  his  difficult,  divided  life.  The  gray 
in  his  locks  was  more  abundant,  the  lines  were 
more  sharply  cut  in  his  forehead.  She  grew 
fondly  anxious,  as  a  woman  will  for  the  man  she 
loves,  and  she  was  strengthened  perhaps  by  her 
loving  concern  for  the  decision  which  he  now 
asked  her  to  make. 

"  Here  is  a  letter,"  he  said,  "  which  I  received 
a  few  days  ago.  Will  you  read  it,  please,  and 
tell  me  what  answer  I  shall  make  to  this  propo- 
sition?" 

She  looked  up  quickly  and  questioningly,  and 
the  look  called  out  from  him  a  brief  laugh,  inex- 
tricably entangled  with  a  sigh. 

"No,"  he  said,  "it  is  nothing  of  that  sort;  I 
shall  never  try  that  again." 

Two  or  three  years  before  he  had  undertaken 
to  act  as  ambassador  for  Professor  Buchstaben 


232  JUS  TIN  A. 

in  the  matter  of  an  offer  of  marriage,  and  at- 
tempted to  advise  Justina's  acceptance.  But  it 
had  been  a  conspicuous  failure  from  all  points 
of  view,  and  neither  of  them  ever  recurred  to 
the  affair  without  this  strange  commingling  of 
laughter  and  sighing. 

The  letter  contained  in  very  flattering  terms  a 
proposition  to  Rolfe  to  join  a  Government  expe- 
dition to  the  Philippine  Islands  to  be  sent  out 
to  observe  the  coming  eclipse.  The  make-up 
of  the  party  was  most  attractive,  the  facilities  for 
his  favorite  pursuits  were  all  he  could  desire,  and 
the  prospect  of  fresh  acquirement  was  alluringly 
set  forth.  Justina's  heart  sank  within  her,  for 
she  saw  that  he  was  tempted.  He  needed  it,  she 
believed,  —  the  complete  change,  new  objects, 
fresh  interests,  long-continued  absence  from 
familiar  scenes.  She  felt  it  was  an  opportunity 
that  should  not  be  neglected.  The  cruel  dis- 
tance, the  absoluteness  of  separation,  were  noth- 
ing less  than  terrible  to  her;  Haut  she  loved 
him.  After  some  thought  and  a  few  low  ques- 
tions between  them,  she  could  look  in  his  face 
and  say,  "  I  think  you  had  better  go." 


XXV. 

HE  went  Ten  of  the  slow-moving  thirteen 
months  had  passed.  The  observations  of  the 
eclipse  had  been  remarkably  successful.  The 
naturalist's  knapsack  and  portfolio  gave  sub- 
stantial proof  of  success  in  his  department.  A 
number  of  the  party  were  ready  £o  return,  and 
the  ship  which  had  brought  them  out  had  to- 
day weighed  anchor  and  was  steaming  off 
toward  Honolulu  on  the  homeward  voyage- 
Rolfe  stood  on  the  low  beach  watching  the 
lessening  speck.  He  was  to  remain  a  few  weeks 
longer,  and  then  to  return  by  way  of  India,  the 
Mediterranean,  and  England.  A  remnant  of 
the  party,  —  the  Doctor  and  young  Wilkins  of 
Easterly,  who  had  served  as  his  delighted  assist- 
ant, —  had  chosen  this  route  with  him.  As  they 
turned  away  from  watching  the  departing  vessel 
they  noticed  another  speck  on  the  horizon,  which 
proved  to  be  an  advancing  ship ;  and  before 
night  all  the  shore  was  alive  with  the  movement 
and  the  clamor,  the  bargaining  and  excitement, 
attendant  on  disembarking  at  the  island.  The 


234  JUSTIN  A. 

ship  was  an   English  steamer,  and  it  brought 
the  English  mail. 

Rolfe  had  gone  to  his  quarters  for  the  night, 
when  a  letter  was  handed  him.  He  broke  the 
seal,  and  read  this  despatch :  — 

Caroline  died  on  the  morning  of  the  ninth.  All  has 
been  attended  to  as  you  would  wish.  ELIZABETH. 

No  mortal  eye  saw  John  Rolfe's  face  for  the 
next  twelve  hours.  He  went  out  into  the  night 
and  lay  on  the  white  beach,  looking  with  wide- 
open  eyes  into  the  depths  of  the  luminous 
southern  heavens.  A  palm-tree  waved  its 
branches  above  his  head.  What  he  lived  in 
those  hours  he  himself  scarcely  knew.  He 
could  give  thanks  that  he  had  been  faithful. 
He  could  give  a  thought  of  tender  pity  to  her 
to  whom  he  had  been  faithful.  He  made  some 
attempt  to  arrest  thought  and  emotion  at  this 
point;  but  it  was  impossible.  What  was  this 
new  force  flooding  his  being  and  lifting  him  out 
of  himself?  Was  it  hope?  He  did  not  know 
hope  unrestrained  by  duty,  unpricked  by  hints 
of  guiltiness.  To  have  this  pure,  white,  happy 
thing  at  his  heart,  and  to  know  that  he  might 
clasp  it  as  close  as  he  would ! 

His  companions  "never  knew  what  came  to 
him  that  night.  So  dull  are  we  mortals  to 
our  neighbor's  keenest  experiences,  they  never 


JUSTIN  A.  235 

guessed  that  it  was  another  man  they  looked 
upon  the  next  day.  They  did  know  that  he 
had  grown  restless  and  impatient,  that  the  ex- 
pected explorations  seemed  to  have  lost  interest 
for  him ;  they  found  him  somewhat  unreasonable, 
and  hard  to  please.  Sometimes  they  wondered 
why  he  had  not  returned  with  the  first  division 
of  the  party. 

It  was  three  months  after  this  that  Justina  sat 
one  day  in  her  little  parlor,  with  a  book  in  her 
hand  and  her  eyes  out  of  the  window  in  the 
tops  of  the  trees.  The  bell  rang,  and  young 
Wilkins  was  shown  in.  Miss  Wilton  jumped 
up.  Her  book  fell  to  the  floor.  This  was  un- 
expected. And  what  more  might  it  mean?  She 
had  received,  some  weeks  before  from  the  islands, 
that  English  despatch  enclosed  in  an  envelope 
from  Rolfe.  Not  a  word  had  come  with  it,  and 
not  a  word  had  followed.  What  words  were 
needed  between  these  two? 

"  At  home,  Walter !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  When 
did  you  come?  " 

The  youth  extended  his  hand  smiling,  and 
thought  Miss  Wilton  very  cordial. 

"I  came  night  before  last,  —  yes,  alone.  I 
hated  to  come ;  but  there  was  nothing  I  could 
do,  and  the  Doctor  thought  I  'd  better." 

Justina  suddenly  resumed  her  seat,  and  a 
more  careful  observer  than  Wilkins  might  have 


236  JUSTINA. 

noticed  the  fluttering  color  in  her  cheek.  "  Please 
explain,"  she  said,  with  an  attempt  at  a  smile. 
"You  see  I  am  quite  in  the  dark < about  these 
movements." 

"  Well,  you  see,  Miss  Wilton,  we  Ve  had  a 
wonderfully  successful  time,"  replied  Mr.  Wilkins, 
deliberately  taking  a  seat,  —  "a  wonderfully  suc- 
cessful time  on  the  whole.  Mr.  Rolfe  and  the 
Doctor  and  I  and  some  of  the  French  gentle- 
men stayed  on  a  while  after  the  eclipse,  and 
made  some  very  interesting  discoveries.  Then 
we  came  over  to  India;  and  I  can  tell  you  we 
had  a  wonderful  journey  through  that  country. 
If  we  had  not  been  in  such  a  prodigious  hurry  — 
but  Mr.  Rolfe  had  business,  he  said,  and  we  had 
to  hurry.  Then  through  the  Mediterranean  to 
Marseilles.  We  came  up  through  France,  and 
took  leave  of  our  French  friends ;  and  all  went 
well  enough  till  we  stopped  over-night  at  this 
little  French  town,  and  Mr.  Rolfe  suddenly  came 
down  with  fever.  The  Doctor  said  it  had  been 
hanging  about  him  a  good  while,  he  thought, 
and  the  fast  travelling  and  the  heat  and  all 
brought  it  out.  We  were  coming  on  the  next 
day,  to  spend  two  days  in  England,  and  then 
take  the  steamer  home,  —  the  one  I  came  by. 
Mr.  Rolfe  was  wild  to  keep  on ;  he  was  a  little 
out  of  his  head,  the  Doctor  said.  But  the  Doctor 
just  put  him  to  bed  and  watched  over  him  like 


JUSTINA.  237 

a  dragon.  He  said  it  would  be  certain  death 
for  him  to  travel  in  that  condition  even  as  far 
as  Paris.  He  's  in  for  a  course  of  fever,  and  it 's 
likely  to  go  hard  with  him." 

"  How  long  ago  was  this?" 

"  Let  me  see.  Ten  —  twelve  days.  I  came 
on  the  second  day  —  the  voyage  over  was  not 
quite  eight  —  I  got  here  night  before  last.  I 
wanted  to  stay "  —  the  young  man  perceived 
that  Miss  Wilton  was  ill  pleased,  and  the  percep- 
tion increased  his  self-reproachful  regrets — "I 
wanted  awfully  to  stay,  but  the  Doctor  said  I  'd 
better  come.  They  got  in  a  Sister  of  Charity 
for  a  nurse,  and  all  the  people  in  the  hotel  were 
as  good  as  gold.  But  it  was  a  mite  of  a  place. 
I  had  to  stay  in  a  house  in  the  garden  which 
they  called  the  dcpendance.  The  Doctor  said 
he  needed  all  the  main  house.  It  was  going  to 
be  a  long  pull  and  a  hard  pull,  and  I  'd  better 
get  home  to  my  mother." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  the  name  of  the  hotel, 
please?  And  the  exact  name  of  the  town? 
How  do  you  spell  it?  On  what  railway  line 
is  it?" 

The  young  man  gave  the  desired  facts,  and 
was  proceeding  to  ask  about  Easterly  affairs. 
"  Thank  you,  Walter,  for  coming  to  see  me  so 
soon,"  interrupted  Miss  Wilton;  "but  now  I 
shall  have  to  ask  you  to  excuse  me.  I  have 


238  JUSTIN  A. 

something  that  I  must  do,  and  it  cannot  be 
put  off." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  Miss  Wilton,  certainly.  I  will 
come  again  soon.  Good-morning." 

Justinawent  at  once  to  the  table  and  consulted 
a  New  York  paper.  Her  hands  trembled  at 
first,  but  they  grew  steadier.  Then  she  went  to 
her  room.  A  moment  she  spent  with  her  head 
bowed  between  her  hands,  thinking  with  that 
lightning  speed  and  clearness  which  is  given  at 
such  times.  A  moment  she  dropped  on  her 
knees  in  her  quiet  corner.  Then  she  was  ready 
for  work.  In  a  few  minutes  she  was  on  the 
street,  and  half  an  hour  after  Wilkins's  call  a 
message  went  from  the  Easterly  telegraph- 
office,  — 

"  Reserve  stateroom  for  a  lady  on  to-morrow's 
steamer." 

Thus  much  being  done,  she  could  slacken  her 
steps  somewhat,  and  she  walked  up  the  hill,  and 
turned  to  Berta's  door.  Here  was  a  friend  who 
would  not  fail  her,  she  thought.  What  the  world 
would  say  she  did  not  know.  Let  it  say  what 
it  would.  Thank  God,  she  might  at  last  follow 
the  promptings  of  her  heart  and  do  no  soul 
a  wrong ! 

"  Berta,"  she  said,  "  I  have  come  to  you  for 
help.  Mr.  Rolfe  is  ill  in  France.  I  am  going 
to  him.  Will  you  take  my  girls  for  a  while  ?  " 


JUSTINA.  239 

"  It  is  right,"  she  added,  for  Berta's  amaze- 
ment was  not  to  be  disguised,  "  it  is  right  now. 
This  will  show  you  that  it  is  right."  She 
drew  from  her  pocket  Elizabeth's  despatch. 
"  You  have  not  known  it,  Berta,  but  Mr.  Rolfe 
is  to  me  what  Raymond  is  to  you." 

The  tender  matron  opened  her  arms.  "  Dear 
child  !  "  she  said,  "  I  guessed  it  long  ago.  God 
bless  you,  Justina !  Now  tell  me  about  this 
illness,  and  about  your  plans.  I  will  take  the 
girls  if  Raymond  is  willing,  and  he  will  be 
willing." 

There  were  passengers  on  that  outgoing 
steamer  who  speculated  sometimes  as  to  the 
story  of  this  interesting  woman  going  out  alone. 
Those  who  noticed  her  most  closely  saw  that 
she  preferred  to  be  alone.  She  defended  her- 
self at  times  with  an  open  book,  but  her  eyes 
were  seldom  upon  it.  They  reached  out  over 
these  creeping  waters,  and  it  seemed  as  if  of 
very  intensity  they  must  conquer  that  yawning 
distance.  Every  impulse  of  the  engine  seemed 
to  her  an  impulse  from  her  own  heart.  But  why 
so  slow,  so  measured  ?  Why  may  not  love  have 
the  wings  that  thought  has?  In  what  beatific 
and  perfect  condition  will  these  terrible  resisting 
forces  give  way  before  desire? 

It  was  in  the  dusk  of  a  spring  evening  that 
she  at  last  alighted  at  the  trim  little  French 


240  JUSTINA. 

station.  Her  eyes  searched  the  face  of  the  hotel 
voituricr,  but  she  could  not  form  her  lips  to  ask 
a  question.  Faint  with  her  long  uncertainty  and 
with  a  dread  which  grew  every  moment  heavier, 
she  took  her  seat  in  the  dusty  vehicle  and  was 
rattled  over  the  pavements.  She  questioned  the 
face  of  every  passer  in  the  street  as  the  carriage 
lamp  flared  for  a  moment  upon  it.  She  tried  to 
read  the  windows  of  the  houses.  But  no  sign 
was  given  her.  The  carriage  turned  into  the 
courtyard,  and  lights  glanced  out.  Odors  of 
mignonette  and  jasmine  came  up  on  the  evening 
air  from  the  dependance  garden. 

"  Madame  is  welcome !  "  said  the  landlord, 
rushing  out  bareheaded.  "  Madame  will  pardon 
perhaps  a  room  in  the  dependance,  —  un  apparte- 
ment  charmant.  A  nobleman  amcricain  occu- 
pies this  entire  suite."  The  landlord  waved  his 
hand  magnificently  toward  his  little  hostelry. 
The  lady  in  the  carriage  had  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands.  Thank  God,  he  was  yet  alive  ! 

She  went  to  her  room  in  the  dependance  and 
sent  at  once  for  the  Doctor,  who  after  some  par- 
leying with  the  messenger  appeared,  impatient 
and  business-like. 

"  I  am  a  friend  of  Mr.  Rolfe,"  said  Justina. 
"  May  I  ask  you  to  tell  me  about  him  —  to  tell 
me  just  what  his  condition  is?  " 

"  It  is  as  bad  as  it  can  be  —  about  as  bad  as 


JUSTIN  A.  241 

it  can  be.  He  is  in  a  very  critical  condition 
indeed."  Impatience  gave  place  in  some  de- 
gree, as  he  spoke,  to  curiosity  and  interest,  but 
he  kept  his  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  door,  and 
was  ready  to  go  at  once. 

"May  I  see  him?" 

"  Certainly  not;  by  no  means  !  "  Impatience 
reasserted  itself.  How  unreasonable  even  a 
woman  with  a  face  like  this  could  be !  "  You 
must  be  aware,"  he  continued,  "  that  a  patient 
at  the  door  of  death,  flighty  and  weak  to  the 
last  degree,  near  the  crisis  of  a  fever,  is  not  to 
be  seen  by  anybody.  And  —  excuse  me  —  I  do 
not  understand  that  you  are  even  a  relative." 

Justina  had  anticipated  this,  and  was  pre- 
pared. 

"  I  am  the  woman  he  has  loved  for  many 
years,"  she  said.  "  I  should  be  his  wife  but  for 
an  obstacle  which  no  longer  exists." 

The  Doctor  bowed.  He  took  his  hand  from 
the  door-latch  and  turned  toward  her.  Light 
began  to  come  tb  him.  He  had  witnessed  a 
will  a  day  or  two  before,  and  the  name  of  the 
principal  legatee  was  the  same  as  that  on  the 
card  the  servant  had  just  now  handed  him.  He 
gave  this  woman's  face  a  keen,  quick  look,  and 
bowed  again.  "  I  beg  your  pardon ;  you  have 
every  right,  Miss  Wilton."  He  was  conquered 
less  by  the  fact  itself  which  she  had  stated  than 
16 


242  JUS  TINA. 

by  the  proud  sweetness  with  which  she  spoke, 
and  the  beautiful  color  that  rose  and  spread 
over  her  pale  cheek. 

She  laid  aside  her  hat  and  gloves  and  stood 
ready.  The  Doctor  again  searched  her  face  with 
a  sharp  professional  look.  "  You  may  come 
with  me  at  once,"  he  said.  "  A  moral  stimu- 
lant," he  muttered,  rubbing  his  head  as  he  led 
the  way  —  "a  strong  moral  stimulant  sometimes 
does  the  work  when  nothing  else  will." 

The  patient  lay  with  his  face  toward  her  as 
Justina  came  in.  He  opened  his  eyes.  "  My 
love  ! "  he  said,  with  the  even,  unsurprised  tone  of 
extreme  weakness,  "I  thought  you  would  come." 
His  fingers  feebly  clasped  the  hand  she  laid  in 
his,  and  his  eyes  closed  again  in  stupor  almost 
before  she  could  speak. 

After  a  time  he  looked  up  again.  "  It  is  Jus- 
tina," he  said ;  "  I  knew  I  should  find  her  at 
last." 

"  Dear  John !  "  she  answered  in  cheerful  tones. 
"  Yes,  it  is  I.  I  have  come  to  see  you.  I  am 
going  to  stay  with  you  if  you  will  let  me." 

He  smiled  dimly,  and  was  away  again. 

"If  we  can  only  rouse  him  !  "  said  the  Doctor. 
"  I  don't  like  this." 

He  was  living  that  dual  existence  which  the 
wonderful  human  creature -lives  at  such  times. 
The  body  would  wake  from  time  to  time  at  the 


JUSTIN  A.  243 

summons  of  nurse  or  doctor.  The  mind  drifted 
occasionally  to  the  shore  of  the  actual,  detained 
a  moment,  perhaps,  by  the  eye,  but  making  no 
long  tarry.  Later  he  opened  his  eyes  again  and 
smiled. 

"  Dearest,  when  did  we  die  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Do 
you  think  we  can  be  together  now?  Are  you 
not  glad  we  lived  it  out?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  glad  we  lived  it  out,  dear  John. 
And  now  we  will  be  together.  Look  at  me, 
please.  Don't  shut  your  eyes  quite  yet  See  ! 
this  is  Justina.  And  feel  my  hand,  —  feel  how 
solid  it  is,  lying  here  in  your  big  brown  one, 
where  it  loves  to  be !  And  here,  let  me  show 
you  something  else.  Do  you  remember  this?" 
She  laid  in  his  hand  the  ring  he  had  placed 
in  her  charge  long  ago.  "  Your  mother's 
ring,  which  you  gave  me  to  keep.  Do  you 
remember?" 

In  such  ways,  by  such  words  from  time  to 
time  through  that  long  night,  she  brought  him 
back.  Full  recognition  broke  over  his  face  at 
last.  "  Justina,  my  sweet  love,  it  is  your  living 
self;  and  you  have  come  to  me  !  " 

What  a  moment  it  was  !  —  the  full  reward  to 
each  of  them  for  all  that  had  gone  before.  "  I 
am  glad  we  lived  it  out,"  he  had  said  in  his 
delirium.  "I  am  glad  we  lived  it  out,"  their 
eyes  said  to  one  another  now. 


244  JUSTINA. 

"  Keep  him  up,  keep  him  up  !  "  whispered  the 
Doctor.  "  Now,  Sister  Madeleine,  come  on  with 
your  broth !  Mr.  Rolfe,  be  so  good  as  to  take 
these  drops.  This  young  lady  has  come  to  see 
what  she  can  do  for  us,  and  after  a  while  shall 
I  —  shall  I  look  up  a  clergyman?" 


XXVI. 

Time  changes  deserts  bare  to  meads, 
And  fertile  meads  to  deserts  bare, 
Cities  to  pools,  and  pools  with  reeds 
To  towns  and  cities  large  and  fair. 
Time  changes  purple  into  rags, 
And  rags  to  purple.     Chime  by  chime, 
Whether  it  flies,  or  runs,  or  drags, 
The  wise  wait  patiently  on  time. 

Two  souls  were  feeling  the  truth  of  these  words 
at  the  close  of  a  summer  day.  John  Rolfe  and. 
Justina  his  wife  sat  at  the  door  of  their  home, 
looking  off  toward  the  mountains  and  the  sun- 
set. All  day  long  the  air  of  Easterly  had  been 
of  an  unusual  and  festive  quality.  Church-bell 
and  factory-bell  had  pealed,  carriages  in  un- 
wonted number,  and  showing  a  remarkable  una- 
nimity of  direction  and  intent,  had  coursed  the 
streets. 

In  the  morning,  in  the  richest  of  bridal  array, 
and  with  every  circumstance  of  joy  and  of  solem- 
nity, these  two  had  been  married  in  the  old 
First  Church,  and  all  the  world  was  there  to  see. 
The  little  Spring  Street  house,  expanded  by 


246  JUSTIN  A. 

canvas  and  booths,  overflowed  with  friends  dur- 
ing the  hours  of  high  noon.  When  the  last 
guest  was  gone,  and  afternoon  was  waning,  the 
husband  and  wife  locked  the  door  together, 
and  walked  away  over  the  meadows  they  knew 
so  well,  to  the  waiting  house  on  the  hill. 

"  It  shall  be  a  home  always,"  Justina  said  as 
they  turned  away,  —  "shall  it  not,  John?  A 
home  perhaps  for  homeless  children  ?  " 

"  A  place  where  truth  and  honor  and  patience 
and  purity  are  taught,"  thought  the  husband  in 
his  heart ;  and  when  his  silence  had  brought  her 
eyes  to  his :  "  It  shall  be  what  you  will,  dear," 
he  said.  "Yes,  I  should  like  to  have  it  that." 

They  walked  away  across  the  happy  fields. 
( Their  own  hearts  were  like  children's  hearts. 
She  was  a  woman  nearing  forty.  The  bloom 
of  her  beauty  was  faded.  And  the  man  at  her 
side  bore  in  his  powerful  frame  the  germs  of  a 
mortal  disease.  Life  might  not  be  long  for 
them,  but  it  would  be  sweet,  —  sweet  to  the 
last  drop.  There  is  no  wine  quite  like  the  red 
wine  of  youth;  but  there  is  a  pure  draught  and 
a  rich  for  those  who  have  waited  and  fulfilled. 
That  draught  these  two  were  drinking  to-day. 

"  I  call  it  all  extremely  sentimental,"  said  Mrs. 
Smith,  who  had  seen  them  as  they  crossed  the 
meadow,  and  tossed  them  a  charming  smile 
from  the  old  carryall,  —  "  extremely  sentimental, 


JUSTIN  A.  247 

this  second  marriage-service  and  all;  for,  so 
far  as  I  can  learn,  they  were  actually  married  by 
a  priest  in  that  little  French  town.  To  be  sure, 
it  was  only  a  foreign,  half-pagan  affair.  It  was 
wise  of  them  not  to  consider  it  consummated 
till  they  came  home  and  had  it  done  up  in  a 
proper  and  Christian  manner.  But  the  whole 
thing  is  so  very  high-flown  and  out  of  the  com- 
mon. That  Sister  Madeleine  she  brought  with 
her  as  nurse  or  companion  or  what  not,  told 
me  how  it  was  there  in  France,  —  how  he  was 
almost  gone  when  she  reached  there,  and  her 
voice  seemed  to  rouse  him,  and  he  thought  they 
were  both  dead  and  in  heaven.  And  then  the 
doctor  sent  for  a  priest,  and  the  priest  came, 
not  understanding  whether  it  was  a  wedding 
or  a  viaticum  he  was  wanted  for ;  so  he  came 
prepared  for  either,  with  a  boy  in  front  of  him 
swinging  the  censer  down  the  village  street,  — 
all  in  the  early  morning,  when  the  peasants  were 
going  to  Mass.  '  Ah !  del!'  says  the  little 
sister,  rolling  up  her  eyes,  '  but  it  was  divine !  ' 
And  it  is  a  very  pretty  story,  very  pretty 
indeed !  " 

"Aunty,  dear,  I  think  it  is  beautiful  to  one 
who  guesses  what  we  all  do  guess  now." 

"  And  the  magnificence  of  it,  my  dear !  The 
veil  like  the  Princess  Royal's,  and  the  dress  the 
same  pattern  as  the  Russian  Empress's,  and  the 


248  JUSTIN  A. 

nachinery  destroyed  as  soon  as  these  two  were 
done.  It 's  like  a  story-book.  But  he  can't  do 
enough  for  her.  He  worships  the  very  ground 
she  treads  upon.  And  Sister  Madeleine  says 
she  lets  him  do  everything  he  wants  to  for  her, 
because  it  makes  him  so  happy." 

At  that  moment  Rolfe  was  looking  down  upon 
his  bride  and  saying :  "  I  believe,  love,  you  are 
more  beautiful  sitting  here  in  the  every-day 
gown  than  even  a  few  hours  ago  among  all  the 
splendors." 

"  I  believe  we  are  both  going  to  take  cold  if 
we  sit  here  any  longer,"  she  answered  gayly; 
"  it  is  time  we  were  in  the  house.  You  have  n't 
asked  me  in  yet." 

He  was  on  his  feet  before  she  had  finished. 
"  But  wait  a  minute,"  he  said  ;  "  come  this  way." 

He  led  the  way  along  the  terrace  to  a  window 
which  he  threw  up,  and  entered  in  advance  of 
her.  It  was  his  working  study,  the  room  where 
they  had  sat  together  one  evening  long  ago. 
He  reached  out  his  hand,  led  her  in,  and  drew 
her  to  his  arms.  She  was  at  home. 

"  Yes,  all  very  romantic  and  pretty,"  continued 
Mrs.  Smith.  She  was  one  of  the  group  on 
Berta's  lawn.  The  town  was  still  a  little  intoxi- 
cated with  all  this  merry-making.  It  would 
take  a  day  or  two  to  get  the  holiday  feeling  out 
of  the  air.  Friends  were  sitting  together  as  these 


JUSTIN  A.  249 

were,  talking  it  all  over.  The  children  in  their 
white  dresses  were  running  about  in  the  door- 
yards  and  on  the  lawns.  "  I  feel  as  if  we  had  all 
gone  back  to  our  fairy-tale  days.  One  does  n't 
often  see  the  happiness  and  the  magnificence 
together  in  these  degenerate  times.  And  I  saw 
the  pair  walking  across  lots  half  an  hour  ago 
as  if  nothing  in  the  world  had  happened.  Then 
they  turned  into  the  shrubbery  on  his  place, 
and  I  lost  sight  of  them.  Ah,  well !  —  and  they 
lived  happy  ever  after." 

"That's  just  the  worst  of  it,"  pronounced 
Doctor  Paul.  He  was  balancing  two  athletic 
infants  on  his  knees,  and  conversation  was  car- 
ried on  with  some  difficulty.  "That's  just  the 
worst  of  it.  They  're  neither  of  them  well. 
They  're  both  worn  out,  and  he 's  a  broken-down 
man.  He 's  given  himself  no  rest.  He 's  burned 
the  candle  at  both  ends.  He  '11  never  be  a  sound 
man,  and  he  won't  be  a  long-lived  one." 

"  I  wonder  why  we  measure  life  merely  by 
length,"  said  Mary  in  an  undertone  to  Berta. 
"  There  's  height,  and  there  's  depth  — " 

"We  don't  measure  it  merely  so,"  answered 
her  sister.  "  Not  one  of  us  really  does  in  his 
heart,  I  think,  though  we  talk  as  if  we  did. 
Mary,  dear,  isn't  it  time  for  the  children  to 
come  in?" 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


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A     SUPERIOR    WOMAN. 


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"  In  these  days  of  morbid  fiction,  when  to  describe  what  may  be  called  path- 
ological eccentricities  in  human  nature  seems  to  be  the  ambition  of  each  new 
novelist,  it  is  as  unexpected  as  it  is  refreshing  to  come  upon  a  story  as  fresh  and 
wholesome  and  true  to  life  as  is  '  A  Superior  Woman.'  There  is  a  happy  fidelity 
to  nature  in  the  character-painting.  Even  the  lighter  sketches,  such  as  Mrs. 
Cleve,  Charley  and  Walter  Thorn,  and  the  Hemingway  sisterhood,  show  the 
same  sense  of  proportion  and  precision  of  stroke  which  makes  Rose  —  dear 
Rosamond  Leigh,  the  heroine  —  as  real  to  us  and  as  vitally  fresh  and  interesting 
as  any  girl  we  know  out  of  a  book." 

"  '  A  Superior  Woman  '  is  a  pleasant  and  delicate  story  of  an  earnest  young 
girl  whose  young  life  is  led  by  her  own  pure  and  sweet  sympathies,  her  loyal 
friendships,  and  her  most  practical  good  sense.  It  is  a  book  that  interests  deeply, 
but  never  thrills  its  readers  ;  because  it  deals  wholly  with  the  interests  of  to-day, 
and  to-day  has  but  few  tragedies,  and  but  few  comedies  that  are  in  any  sense  too 
strange  to  be  believed.  It  is  a  book  of  helpfulness  for  such  young  women  as 
desire  to  make  the  most  of  the  domestic  materials  at  hand,  and  also  for  such  young 
men  as  are  evolving  prospective  wives  and  toiling  for  prospective  firesides  of  their 
own.  In  fact,  it  is  a  treasure  for  all  those  who  are  in  search  of  the  'superior 
woman.'  The  novel  is  one  of  the  '  No  Name '  series,  and  these  books  are  never 
inferior  in  literary  quality." 


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MESSRS.   ROBERTS  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 
NO    NAME    (THIRD)    SERIES. 

DIANE  CORYVAL. 


"  A  book  published  in  the  '  No  Name  '  Series,  and  called  '  Diane  Coryval,' 
combines  so  many  of  the  essentials  that  go  to  make  up  a  perfect  story,  one 
hardly  knows  where  to  begin  to  praise,  and  there  is  almost  nothing  to  blame. 
The  writing  is  full  of  tender  grace  and  gentle  humor,  and  abounds  in  pictures 
that  glow  as  if  on  canvas.  The  story  is  a  song  in  praise  of  loving  and 
unselfish  life."  —  Chicago  Tribune. 

"  In  the  long  line  of  '  No  Name '  novels,  it  is  doubtful  if  another  can  be 
found  so  pervaded  by  the  clear,  sweet  atmosphere  that  penetrates  and  fills 
'  Diane  Coryval.'  "  — Mary  Clemmer,  in  "  The  Capital." 

"  There  is  nothing  but  praise  for  this  little  story,  which  could  not  well  be 
more  delicate  in  its  workmanship,  or  more  charming  ih  its  conception."  — 
Albany  Evening  Journal. 

"  This  is  a  French  story,  clean,  sweet,  and  charmingly  picturesque.  Its  first 
scenes,  in  Paris,  depict  a  phase  of  life  among  artists  in  that  home  of  art ;  but 
the  action  is  soon  transferred  to  Leval,  a  quaint  old  town,  with  its  still  quainter 
people,  on  the  seashore  in  Picardy.  The  story  is  told  in  a  pure,  natural,  beau- 
tiful style,  with  fine  but  not  fantastic  or  overwrought  descriptions  of  scenery, 
and  with  no  subtle  analysis  of  character  or  motives.  All  its  personnel  live  and 
move  before  us  as  real  human  beings,  with  nothing  impossible  or  even  im- 
probable in  their  careers  or  conduct.  It  is  a  very  interesting,  indeed  fasci- 
nating, tale  of  a  true  love  that,  as  ever,  did  not  run  smooth,  — '  Oh,  the  pathos 
of  it ! '  — told  in  a  chaste,  elevated  tone  throughout.  One  is  loath  to  lay  down 
the  little  book  and  close-his  acquaintance  with  these  nai've  and  noble-hearted 
peasants  of  Picardy."  —  Christian  Register. 

"  It  is  a  charming  story,  opening  with  a  glimpse  of  artist  life  in  Paris.  The 
heroine  is  a  beautiful  girl  full  of  devotion  and  love  for  an  invalid  mother,  from 
whose  death  the  daughter  turns  to  a  new  life  that  follows  in  broad  and  un- 
known channels,  where  the  young  girl  is  guided  by  a  rare  woman  of  quaint 
habits,  but  picturesque  in  all  the  homely  detail  of  her  life.  The  character- 
drawing  is  distinct  and  graceful,  the  heroine  full  of  goodness  through  the 
chapters  that  contain  the  darkest  years  of  her  life.  The  quiet  beauty  of  the 
closing  chapters,  the  strength  of  character  that  is  felt  through  it  all,  are  refresh- 
ing, while  the  story  ends  in  a  delightful  fashion."  — Boston  Post. 

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NO    NAME   (THIRD)    SERIES. 

BARRINGTON'S  FATE. 


" '  Barrington's.  Fate '  is  a  novel  of  considerable  power.  It  is  re- 
markably coherent ;  its  character-drawing  is  artistic  ;  its  conversations 
are  bright  and  natural ;  its  plot  is  a  good  one.  It  is  a  novel  sure  to 
make  its  mark."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

" '  Harrington's  Fate,'  the  last  issue  in  the  '  No  Name '  series,  bears 
the  marks  of  a  practised  hand,  and  is  a  book  that  no  novel  reader,  once 
having  begun,  will  feel  like  laying  aside  until  the  last  page  is  turned. 
It  is  a  love  story,  pure  and  simple.  The  incidents  are  skilfully 
handled,  and  one  or  two  of  the  characters  are  drawn  with  remarkable 
cleverness.  A  well-known  American  author —  a  lady  —  who  read  the 
works  in  sheets,  says  of  it  in  a  private  letter  :  '  The  heroine  is  a  girl 
after  my  own  heart;  she  is  so  purely  feminine.  Her  very  mistakes  are 
but  the  excesses  of  her  good  qualities,  her  self-devotion,  and  her  tender- 
ness for  other  people.  And  she  knows  how  to  love  as  not  one  woman 
in  a  hundred  does,  in  a  novel  or  out  of  it.  Indeed,  the  special  grace 
of  this  book  is  that  it  is  just  a  love  story  with  no  tractarian  purpose. 
It  is  good  to  get  acquainted  with  such  a  charming  specimen  of  girl- 
hood as  Katherine,  and  no  less  with  a  man  who  knows  his  own  mind 
as  well  as  Barrington  knows  his  from  the  beginning.  Mrs.  Wilbra- 
ham  is  an  absolutely  new  character  in  fiction ;  something  to  be  grateful 
for  in  these  days.'  The  author  has  not  been  guessed  at,  so  far  as  we 
have  seen ;  but  that  it  is  by  a  woman  is  certain,  and  if  we  are  not 
mistaken,  by  a  woman  who  holds  to-day  a  distinguished  place  in  the 
English  world  of  letters."  —  Transcript. 

" '  Barrington's  Fate '  is  the  latest  and  best  of  all  the  '  No  Name ' 
series.  It  is  not  deep,  but  immensely  entertaining  and  brilliant,  as  a 
story  should  be.  The  characters  are  lovable,  refined,  and  charmingly 
natural.  One  meets  them  like  acquaintances.  The  lover  is  exactly 
the  kind  of  a  lover  that  a  woman  thoroughly  appreciates.  .  .  .  Men 
like  Barrington,  determined,  persistent,  and  not  afraid  to  let  the  world 
know  that  they  are  in  love,  are  adored  by  women.  .  .  .  We  recom- 
mend this  bright,  clever  story  to  readers  in  this  column,  not  as  a  book 
notice,  but  with  a  genuine  feeling  of  pleasure  that  there  is  such  a 
pretty  new  story  to  enjoy  in  these  winter  evenings." — Hartford  Times, 
communication. 

One  Tolume.    16mo.    Brown  cloth.    Price,  81.0O. 

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A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  PHILISTINES 


"  There  is  nothing  like  a  well-written  novel  to  (jive  the  reader  a  true  insight  of  hu- 
man life  in  all  its  phases,  its  society,  aims,  and  aspirations,  and  of  the  scenes  and  scen- 
ery in  which  it  moves.  The  '  No  Name 'novels  dp  this.  They  are  all  bright  and 
truthful,  and  of  a  refined  order ;  they  are  so  good  it  is  singular  that  the  publishers, 
Roberts  Brothers,  of  Boston,  are  able  to  sell  them  at  the  cheap  price  of  one  dollar  a 
volume.  The  binding  is  tasteful,  and  the  books  are  convenient  to  handle,  just  the 
right  size  to  tuck  away  in  a  satchel,  for  reading  during  a  journey,  or  for  the  summer 
holidays.  While  one  is  entertained  by  these  charming  little  stories,  there  is  also  a 
satisfactory  feeling  that  time  is  not  wasted  in  their  perusal,  but  much  profit  gained. 
They  keep  one  abreast  with  the  times  in  many  social  directions,  and,  in  a  pleasurable 
way,  they  are  adapted  to  give  ladies  a  great  deal  of  the  general  information  of  the  day, 
in  which  many  are  sadly  lacking.  The  '  No  Name  Series  '  is  better  and  better  the  older 
it  grows.  The  Third  Series  includes  some  of  the  best.  '  Barrington's  Fate  '  is  followed 
by  '  A  Daughter  of  the  Philistines,'  and  it  is  good  from  beginning  to  end.  .  .  .  The 
book  is  brimming  with  little  bits  of  wisdom,  and  genuine  worldly  knowledge.  .  .  . 

"  '  A  Daughter  of  the  Philistines'  does  not  claim  to  be  a  society  novel,  but  it  gives 
more  comprehensive  information  of  New  York  society  than  the  books  that  make  that 
subject  a  specialty.  It  also  depicts  faithfully  the  scheming  stock  operations  of  Wall 
street ;  but  the  ugliest  facts  of  society  and  of  stock  gambling  are  presented  with  a  re- 
fined taste  and  a  delicate  humor  that  would  please  the  most  fastidious  reader."  — 
Hartford  Times. 

"We  commend  the  story  as  a  picture  of  the  demoralizing  effect  of  Wall  Street  spec- 
ulation on  domestic  life,  for  its  graphic  portraiture  of  fashionable  life  on  Murray  Hill, 
and  for  the  lesson  it  inculcates  of  the  misfortune  and  disaster  that  follow  in  the  train 
of  those  who  give  themselves  up  to  the  worship  of  Mammon."  —  Providence  Journal. 

|"  A  Daughter  of  the  Philistines '  is  one  of  the  latest  of  the  '  No  Name  Series '  and 
it  is  the  most  interesting  of  the  collection.  Its  literary  superiority  and  originality 
strike  one  upon  its  first  page,  and  they  are  continued.  There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  the 
book."  —  Home  Journal. 

"  If  we  were  to  hazard  a  guess,  it  would  be  that  this  book  is  by  the  author  of  '.The 
House  of  a  Merchant  Prince,'  Mr.  Bishop,  of  New  York.  We  are,  however,  it 
seems,  never  to  know  who  any  of  these  '  No  Name  '  writers  are,  and  so  even  guess- 
ing is  unprofitable.  The  story  is  of  New  York  life,  and  its  incidents  lie  chiefly  among 
the  rich  and  fashionable.  The  'Philistines'  in  question  are  what  are  called  the 
nouveaux  riches.  Their  character,  career,  and  end  are  sketched  in  a  way  to  show 
where  and  how  intense  worldliness  is  apt  to  bring  up.  The  '  Daughter,'  however, 
has  elements  of  character  of  a  better  order,  and  falling  in  love  with  a  superior  man,  is 
by  him  saved  from  the  fate  which  at  first  threatens  her.  The  whole  is  managed  with 
the  skill  of  a  practised  writer,  with  the  insight  of  true  genius,  and  with  an  aim  which 
the  judicious  reader  fully  indorses."  — Standard,  Chicago, 


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NO    NAME   (THIRD)    SERIES. 

PRINCESS    AMELIE. 


"  No  man  or  woman  can  read  it  without  being  not  only  interested  and  charmed  by 
its  subtlety  and  beauty,  but  also  purified  and  strengthened  by  the  story  of  a  simple 
life  and  a  pure  love.  As  the  term  is  usually  employed,  it  is  not  a  novel  '  with  a  pur- 
pose,' but  it  effects  the  only  purpose  which  is  sufficient  to  justify  the  writing  of  any 
novel  —  it  makes  its  reader  better.  No  one  can  peruse  its  pages  without  feeling  the 
influence  of  a  sweet,  steadfast,  honest  life  simply  and  brightly  told."  —  The  Continent. 

"  Few  lovelier  tales  than  that  have  been  told  us.  It  is  so  sincere  and  so  pure,  such 
a  contrast-to  the  Ouida  school.  Such  a  book  gives  one  back  one's  faith  in  goodness 
and  truth,  —  in  life'lived  for  duty's  sake,"  —  Mrs.  L.  C.  Moulton. 

"  We  have  before  us  the  last  publication,  '  Princess  Ame'lie,'  and  have  no  hesitation 
in  proclaiming  it  an  ingenious,  brilliant,  and  original  story.  The  reader  who  has 
gone  through  with  Miss  Yonge's  beautiful  story  called  '  Stray  Pearls,'  will  find  in 
1  Princess  Ame'lie'  a  continuation  of  the  interest  in  the  stately  and  splendid  old  French 
society  of  the  pre-revolutionary  period.  .  .  .  The  writer  has  with  infinite  cleverness 
concealed  his  or  her  great  coup  from  the  reader ;  and  we  leave  the  reader  to  find  it 
out.  The  story  is  in  every  way  a  delightful  one;  a  book  that  young  girls  may  read 
with  pleasure,  and  with  profit.  This  time  the  '  No  Name  Series  '  has  scored  a  suc- 
cess." —  Toronto  Mail. 

" '  Princess  Ame'lie  *  is  the  best  volume  yet  published  in  the  third  '  No  Name  * 
series.  It  is  called  a  fragment  of  autobiography,  and  the  royal  love-story  is  charm- 
ingly told.  The  simple  style,  and  the  quaint  turn  of  the  plot,  give  the  story  an 
added  grace,  and  one  lays  it  down  with  a  sigh  that  it  should  end  so  soon."— 

Watchman. 

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MESSRS.  ROBERTS  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 
NO    NAME    (THIRD)    SERIES. 

ALMOST  A  DUCHESS, 


"  It  is  an  intricate  but  well-constructed  romance  of  a  popular  English  class, 
in  which  there  are  many  love-complications,  a  number  of  marriages  and  deaths, 
with  the  usual  incidents  attending  all  such  events.  Some  of  these  are  marked 
with  dramatic  force,  and  the  story  is  so  well  told  and  so  steadily  carried  for- 
ward to  a  symmetrical  conclusion  that  it  is  sure  to  delight  a  large  class  of 
readers."  — Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin. 

"  The  pretty  title,  '  Almost  a  Duchess,'  strikes  the  key-note  of  the  novel. 
A  beautiful  English  girl  marries  a  youthful  French  Duke,  to  the  chagrin  of  his 
mother,  who  had  planned,  after  the  French  cut-and-dried  matrimonial  fashion, 
to  marry  him  to  a  French  damsel  of  high  degree  and  large  fortune.  After  his 
English  marriage,  the  son  visits  France  alone,  where  he  succumbs  to  his 
mother's  influence  and  the  blandishments  of  the  unscrupulous  French  girl,  and 
annuls  his  marriage,  which  he  learns  for  the  first  time  is  illegal  in  France,  if 
not  in  England,  under  the  technicalities  of  French  law.  This  gives  the 
foundation  to  a  rather  tragic  story,  which  will  interest  all  of  its  readers,  besides 
giving  them  an  insight  to  the  social  customs  in  French  life  of  high  rank,  and 
its  rigid  and  restrictive  marriage  laws,  that  make  slaves  of  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  France,  and  gives  opportunities  to  break  various  moral  con- 
siderations, and,  perhaps,  some  youthful  hearts.  Like  all  its  predecessors, 
'Almost  a  Duchess'  keeps  up  the  well-deserved  reputation  of  the  No  Name 
Series."  —  New  York  Times. 

"  Some  of  the  scenes  are  highly  wrought  and  dramatic ;  some  truly  pathetic. 
The  story  moves  on  without  weariness,  and  a  fine  woman's  hand  is  under  it 
all."  —  The  Graphic. 

"'Almost  a  Duchess'  is  a  delightful  and  entertaining  story,  — quite  the  best 
we  have  had  lately  in  the  No  Name  Series."—  The  Critic. 

One  volume.    IGmo.    Cloth.    Price  Si. 00. 

%*  Sold  at  all  bookstores,  or  mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers*  Publications, 

No  NAME  (THIRD)  SERIES. 

HER    CRIME 


"The  third  series  of  '  No  Name'  novels  begins  with  '  Her  Crime,'  a  story  which 
in  its  opening  chapters  seems  likely  to  be  commonplace,  but  which  grows  nsore  and 
more  powerful  as  it  goes  on,  developing  a  very  remarkable  character  in  its  heroine, 
and  a  plot  of  extraordinary  intricacy,  considering  the  limited  size  of  the  book.  The 
story  is  told  by  the  heroine's  friend,  a  simple,  bright  little  woman,  whose  life  is  well- 
nigh  ruined  by  the  heroine's  jealousy  and  unscrupulousness,  but  who  loves  her  to  the 
last.  .  .  .  But  it  is  Florence  Homer  alone  who  makes  the  story,  and  she  will  live  in 
the  reader's  memory  for  some  time,  a  beautiful,  unscrupulous  woman,  loving  as  well 
as  a  woman  without  a  conscience  can  love,  and  blighting  every  life  that  touches  her 
own."  —  Sunday  Budget. 

"  A  wonderfully  dramatic  book  is  the  new  '  No  Naine  '  story,  '  Her  Crime,'  with 
which  the  publishers  begin  the  third  series  of  that  name.  The  plot  is  altogether  out 
of  the  common,  and  readers  who  thirst  for  a  sensation  have  it  here.  We  do  not  pro- 
pose to  destroy  the  charm  of  the  story  by  telling  its  secret  in  advance,  but  can  only 
commend  it  as  one  of  the  best  as  well  as  one  of  the  most  original  works  in  the  long 
list  of  '  No  Names'  which  have  yet  seen  the  light."  — Boston  Transcript. 

"The  latest  issue  in  the  'No  Name'  series  is  a  brightly  written  story  of  New 
York  life,  with  little  glimpses  of  the  South  and  West.  The  heroine,  Florence,  a  sin- 
gularly beautiful  and  fascinating  woman,  jealous,  passionate  under  her  calmness,  and 
absorbing  weaker  natures,  whether  men  or  women,  is  a  moving  and  powerful  figure. 
The  failure  of  '  her  crime,'  which  has  shattered  her  husband,  to  impair  in  the  least 
her  splendid  charm,  makes  a  striking  ending,  where  an  ordinary  writer  would  have 
given  a  merely  melodramatic  one.  The  'local  color  '  seems  to  be  faithful.  An  air  of 
propriety  and  high  breeding  without  a  particle  of  priggishness  pervades  the  whole 
novel,  which  is  full  of  brisk  conversation  and  eminently  readable." —  Gcod  Litera- 
ture. 

"  If  art  in  a  story  is  that  which  carries  the  reader  along  a  rather  bright  narrative, 
interesting  him  in  character  and  incident,  without  allowing  him  to  be  too  conscious  of 
the  thickening  mystery  that  unfolds  like  a  cloudburst  at  the  climax  of  interest,  then 
there  is  a  high  order  of  art  in  this  story."  —  Inter-Ocean 


One  Volume,  i6mo,  Brown  Cloth,  Black  and  Gold  Stamp.     Price,  $1.00. 

Sold  by  all  booksellers,  or  mailed,  post-paid,  to  any  address  on  receipt  of 
price,  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  Boston. 


MESSRS.    ROBERTS   BROTHERS' 


NO    NAME   (T 

I          A    000  032  808     8 

LITTLE     SISTER. 


"Tin's  last  volume  of  the  new  'No  Name'  series  is  a  terder  little  story.  It 
stands  by  itself  in  the  series.  So  far  as  we  remember,  there  is  not,  in  the  whole  long 
list  of  the  very  unequal  and  much-named  '  No  Names,'  another  of  its  order.  It  is  a 
bit  of  faithful  and  delicate  genre  work,  —  a  sort  of  work  too  much  neglected  by  our 
story-wrights.  Their  neglect  of  it  is  perhaps  only  the  natural  result  of  the  law  of 
supply  and  demand;  so  large  a  proportion  of  readers  belong  to  the  class  of  that  excel- 
lent old  lady  who,  knowing  no  better  health-test  than  her  appetite  for  sensational 
narratives,  remarked  sadly  one  day  that  she  was  sure  she  must  be  ill,  for  she  had  lost 
all  her  relish  for  the  murders  in  the  newspapers.  By  readers  of  this  class  stories  like 
'Little  Sister'  are  thrown  away,  —  dismissed  as  dull,  with  a  hasty  contempt  which 
would  be  much  surprised,  no  doubt,  at  being  told  that  the  very  quality  for  which  it 
had  rejected  books  was  their  one  excellence,  namely,  every-dayness,  simplicity, 
slenderness  of  plot.  There  is  also  in  '  Little  Sister'  an  undertone  of  clear-hearted 
spirituality.  This,  without  taking  shape  in  technical  religious  phrase,  makes  itself 
felt  in  every  emergency  and  crisis  through  which  the  characters  are  carried,  and  is  far 
more  likely  to  cast  its  weight  on  the  right  side  of  balances  for  the  very  silence  and 
reserve  in  which  its  presence  is  wrapped."  —  "  H.  H."  in  The  Critic. 

"  'Little  Sister  '  is  a  recent  addition  to  that  deservedly  popular  series  whose  name 
is'  No  Name.'  It  is  a  bright,  sweet,  simple  story.  There  is  no  villain  and  no  adven- 
turess. The  plot  is  just  such  a  one  as  is  woven  daily  by  the  incidents,  sorrows,  joys, 
common  to  the  majority  of  lives.  The  unassuming  little  heroine  is  what  every  woman 
should  be,  —a  silent  power  for  good.  She  illustrates  in  her  quiet  life  the  beauty  of 
unselfishness.  There  are  sparkles  of  bubbling  laughter  and  touches  of  tender  grief, 
and  on  every  page  some  useful  lesson  to  sink  into  the  heart  and  bear  fruit." — The 
Chicago  Tribune. 

"  It  is  not  every  day  that  brings  a  novel  so  wholesome,  so  homely  (in  the  best 
sense  of  the  word),  so  simple,  so  true  to  life,  so  full  of  common  sense,  so  bright,  and  so 
interesting  as  '  Little  Sister.'  There  is  not  a  character  in  it  whom  one  would  not  like 
to  know ;  and  that  is  the  greatest  compliment,  because  the  scene  is  laid  in  Philadelphia. 
...  It  is  a  genuinely  'match-making'  book,  but  whhal  the  story  is  so  healthy  that  it 
might  well  prove  infectious.  It  is  the  kind  of  a  novel  that  makes  one  feel  that  life  is 
worth  living."  —  The  Philadelphia  Press. 


One  volume,  16mo,  brown  cloth.    Price,  SI. 00. 


Our  publications  are  to  be  had  of  all  booksellers, 
to  be  found,  send  directly  to  the  publishers, 


When  not 


ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


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